The Shadow
by notyourdreamwife
Summary: The Guard is struggling post-war, despite its apparent victory. Ethan has withdrawn completely into himself, much to his father's distress, and Matt is struggling to fill Lorian's shoes as head of the Guard. Isabel, lost in her concern for her friends, teeters on the precipice of making some very poor decisions that could threaten the tentative peace that has settled.
1. One - Isabel

**One - Isabel**

We won, but it doesn't feel like it. Loss is weighing down heavily on everyone, but none of us are suffering as much as Ethan. He won't eat and Shaun says that he barely sleeps - the tv in his room just blares all night with infomercials and 24 hour news channels. It's been nearly three weeks since the final battle and I haven't seen or spoken to Ethan since then. Matt used his wings a few days ago to break into his room but Ethan barely acknowledged him, just calmly asked him to leave him alone.

"It was freaky, Isabel, it was like he wasn't even fully conscious." Matt leans against one of the futuristic consoles in Arkarian's central chamber and runs his hand through his hair. He looks like shit. Being thrust so quickly into leadership of the Guard since Lorian's death has really done a number on him, and if it wasn't for his being an Immortal, I'm pretty sure my brother would have keeled over by now.

I shift on my stool, propping my chin on top of a closed fist and frowning. "I can't imagine how much he's hurting right now," I say, dropping my gaze to the stone floor. "He's not replying to any of my texts or calls, and I'm really scared, Matt. What if he does something stupid?"

"He won't. I made sure to dig through his thoughts. He's just really really depressed and I don't think even he knows yet what he wants to do. He wouldn't do that to his family though. He wouldn't do that to us. Its painful but I think he just needs time." I squeeze my eyes closed and rub my temples, easing the rapidly-forming headache I can feel creeping through my brain. "You need to sleep," Matt says, ever the worrier.

"So do you," I reply. "How long has it even been since your head hit a pillow?"

"I don't need to sleep anymore," he says, shaking his head.

"It might not kill you but you do still need to sleep Matt, I can feel your body aching from here." And I can, soreness and fatigue is practically radiating from him, making my healing senses prickle uncomfortably. He shifts and offers me a tired smile as he kicks at his bag, which is resting at his feet.

"I'm going to sleep tonight, I promise. I'm not even going to Athens, I'm just going to spend the night at Neriah's, and help her and her mum set their house back up."

I rise from my seat and cross the room, enveloping my brother in a tight hug. "Good," I say, giving him an extra squeeze. "I've already text mum to say that I'm spending the night there too. Cover for me?" I pull away and look up at him, and he doesn't quite manage to mask his displeasure in time. Since the battle I've been staying here with Arkarian most nights, and Matt is trying his hardest to overcome his protectiveness of me. An uneasy truce has settled in between the two of them, both tolerating each other for my sake. I don't think any of us can stand any more infighting. Instead of saying anything, Matt simply sighs and nods, scooping his bag around his shoulders and heading towards the exit of the central chamber. "You're walking?" I ask, surprised. If I had wings and I was as worn out as him, I don't think I would bother with the trek all the way down the mountain.

"Yeah, I need to clear my head," Matt replies as he turns to leave. As he walks down the torch-lit passageway to the outside world, he briefly pauses at the one door that's propped open and raises his hand by way of goodbye.

"Goodbye Matt," I hear Arkarian say from inside. My brother nods once, then walks away.

"Text me when you get there!" I call after him as he leaves. He turns briefly and smirks at me, amused at our role-reversal. For one heartbreaking second I see a flash of my brother still in there, a sarcastic idiot who loves to tease his little sister. He salutes, and the rocky doorway closes up behind him, screening him from view.

I fold my arms around me and wander over to the room Arkarian is working in. He's been periodically summoning Atlantean machinery from the wreckage of the Citadel, then attempting to fix what he can. It's been keeping him busy and distracting him from his grief over losing his father, which I'm grateful for. My stomach twists into a knot as I think about Lorian, and how unfair it was that Arkarian only got to know him as his father for such a short time. For six hundred years Arkarian has been mostly alone in the world, with only the Atlanteans living in the Citadel and the Tribunal members not dying around him. Then, just as he finally gets a piece of family that he so desperately wanted, it gets taken away from him again. Well, I guess not totally - he still has a cousin in Matt. I try very quickly to stop thinking about whether that makes us related in any way as I lean through the doorway to find Arkarian.

"It doesn't, thank goodness," he says from underneath a large console in the corner. Crap, he heard me. I quickly screen my thoughts and huff at him. He pokes his head out from between two struts propping the tech up and shoots me a gentle smile, making my insides melt. His electric blue hair is pulled into a bun on the back of his head, showing off his cheekbones and intense violet eyes. Not for the first time, I wonder at how I got to be so lucky.

"Any joy?" I ask, nodding towards the console. He pauses a second before pulling a warped metal disc out from within the machinery, and holds it up for me to see.

"Some of these are missing, and the ones that we still have are bent quite out of shape. Jimmy can fix the broken ones, then we can set some aside for Neriah to draw up new ones. Hopefully, then we can get them re-installed and we will have communication between times again - it will save us having to open portals every time we need to speak with the Tribunal." Arkarian sets the disc aside and pulls himself completely upright, dusting himself off. I wander further into the room and he meets me halfway, pulling me into a hug. "Did I hear you say you're staying here again tonight?" he asks.

I nod against his chest, enjoying the wave of calm that washes over me at his touch. "I'll have to go home tomorrow, though. I haven't been in my bed for three nights and mom is going to get suspicious if I'm away much longer." For the briefest of moments, his hold tightens slightly - he hates being apart from me, as I do from him. At least at home I have my mom, Jimmy, and occasionally Matt around. Here in the mountain, Arkarian is all alone. Before the Citadel fell, that was where he spent most of his time, working and living with the Atlanteans who also resided there. Now the Citadel is gone, along with most of his friends and his possessions. The first few days after the battle, Arkarian divided his time between salvaging the most important technology and his personal possessions, with little success in either camp. He's lost almost everything, and every day there is less to recover.

"Lets get some lunch," he says, kissing the top of my head and loosening his hug.

"Sure, what do you have?" I ask, walking out of the room and over to the kitchen.

"I have some more of the pasta I made the other day? Or some cheese and bread for sandwiches?"

"Sandwiches sound great," I say, hopping up on the countertop.

Arkarian nods and sets to work preparing lunch. The kitchen in his chambers doesn't look like a regular kitchen to most people - it's mostly composed of smooth stone worktops with a strange metallic sheets made out of some kind of gemstone placed about sporadically. Some of them heat up like a stove, others control the interior temperature of the units, and others fold open in a way that seems impossible to reveal hidden storage. Other items are more recognisable - there's a breadbin and shelves laden with crockery, and a metal box that looks and performs similarly to a microwave. Arkarian has also added some glass jars in the past few days to hold various grains and ingredients. He grabs one filled with cashew nuts now, and shakes it in my direction.

"Snack?"

"Thanks."

I take the jar and nibble on a few of the nuts in comfortable silence. Every now and then Arkarian and I catch each other's eye and share warm smiles. I'm going to hate leaving tomorrow. I air this thought and he momentarily stops slicing cheese, setting the knife down and squeezing my knee.

"We have all the time in the world," he says simply, and kisses my cheek. Before he can move away again I catch his lips with mine and pull him closer to me.

"I know, I just wish that time were now."

He rests his hand on the side of my face, stroking my cheek with his thumb. He looks like he's considering something. After a long silence he replies, hesitation in his voice. "Maybe it can be."

"What do you mean?"

"I think I heard Matt say that he is staying at Neriah's tonight?" he asks, and I see where he's going.

"So we could go to Athens and squeeze in a couple more weeks together," I finish, breaking into a wide grin. But then I remember why we haven't done that so far and my smile falters. "But are you sure you're ready? If its too painful…"

Arkarian cuts me off with another light kiss. "I have to face it sooner or later. And it would be nice to see the Tribunal members again after so long an absence."

"Then that sounds great," I reply, my smile now more secure.

"I'll make the preparations later," Arkarian says. He reaches back over to the cheese and continues with lunch.

We eat together in the kitchen, our conversation light and flowing easily. We talk mostly about the books Arkarian is reading (multiple at once, as always), and how my French is coming along - Arkarian has been teaching me since we began dating, but it's frustratingly slow going despite his reassurances that I'm doing well.

"You can't expect to be fluent straight away."

"Its not straight away, though," I counter, waving my sandwich around. "It's been nearly a year and I still can't understand half of what you say!"

"Even so, I have been speaking French for six hundred years, you have been speaking French for eleven months." I scoff and take another bite of food, narrowing my eyes. "T'es mon cœur, Isabel. Je t'aime," he continues, taking my hand in his.

"I love you too."

"You understood that well enough," he says, with the smallest hint of triumph spreading across his face. I roll my eyes and huff again, but give his hand a squeeze before releasing my grip. I'm just about to argue some more when we hear another familiar voice from the hallway.

"It's me! I bring tidings of food!" Jimmy yells above the rustle of carrier bags. We push ourselves away from the table and go out to help, and find Jimmy laden beneath more bags than seems possible for one man to carry.

"Jimmy, this is too much… I can't possibly accept all of this…" Arkarian says as he unburdens Jimmy's right hand.

One hand now free, Jimmy separates the other bags out and hands half of them to me before replying. "Don't worry about it, I went by Aldi and got you loads of canned things for less than I normally spend on petrol. Also, do you realise how much of your food I've eaten over the years?" I don't know if Jimmy catches it, but Arkarians face reddens slightly as he looks over all of the food we drag back into the kitchen. He's not used to accepting charity, but the food he used to eat was divided between what was grown on the Citadel and what could be sent from Athens, meaning even eating is a struggle recently. Everyone has been bringing food up when they can, and Matt has been sending supplies through Neriah's experimental portals, but this is more than I've seen in my entire time here put together. There's no way this cost less than a full tank in the Jeep.

It's been difficult enough to get used to the idea of 'Jimmy the fellow Guard member' as opposed to 'Jimmy, mom's boyfriend', but Jimmy being Arkarian's friend for apparently over twenty years is even more difficult to wrap my head around. Its not reply a surprise with that context that Jimmy is the one going the extra mile to make sure Arkarian is surviving okay up here in the mountains. I think I can really get on board with 'Jimmy the friend'. He helps us put away the extra food in their strange boxes and cabinets, and whilst I note with approval how full they look now, Arkarian updates him on the current salvage progress.

"Everything I'm pulling out of the wreckage now is more ruined than the previous item, I don't think there will be much more to find," Arkarian says as he stack some tinned tomatoes on a nearby shelf.

"Honestly I'm surprised we've walked away with so much. I thought that bringing the Citadel down would have totalled everything inside. Tech that hardy, Atlanteans must have founded Nokia."

I laugh at the dated joke, then some more when I catch Arkarian's confused expression. Jimmy grins over at him and patiently explains, "Its a tech company, they make phones that are really hard to break."

"Oh, then why don't you have one, Isabel?" Arkarian asks me innocently. I scowl. My phone is resting on the side, shattered screen visible for all to see. I don't have the best track record with being gentle with my phones. This particular poor iPhone was the victim of smacking my side into a large boulder whilst abseiling.

"Correction," Jimmy says with a smile. "They make phones that are really hard to break if you don't routinely throw yourself off cliffs."

"Oh ha ha, this one wasn't my fault, the rope got slack and I went sideways!"

"And the phone before that, I suppose it triple jumped out of your hands into the sink?" Jimmy's smile is wider now, but still friendly. He's enjoying teasing me and I suspect being able to do it in front of Arkarian is even more satisfying for him.

"It was fine after putting it in a bag of rice-"

"-for about a week."

"My contract was due up anyway, I upgraded-"

"-and smacked your new phone into a cliffside."

Arkarian is struggling to keep a straight face now, which only seems to spur Jimmy on further. In one sickening moment, I remember what happened to my previous phone, and as Jimmy opens his mouth to voice _that _series of unfortunate events I cut across him with a loud "ANYWAY!". It's enough to break Arkarian, who snickers quietly with his back turned to us. Jimmy shoots me another smile and I realise that getting Arkarian to laugh was his goal all along. Yeah, I can really get on board with Jimmy the Friend. Everything feels a little lighter, a little less depressing, when he's around.

"Well, you better show me what you do have, see if I can fix anything whilst I'm here," Jimmy says, clapping Arkarian on the shoulder. Arkarian shoots me a sideways glance, but I give him a small, reassuring smile.

"Go. Jimmy has to be back soon and I'm fine putting everything else away." At that, the two of them disappear back into Arkarian's work room.

The first few times I watched Jimmy fix things I was entranced, but after a while sitting and watching things knit themselves back together under his hands gets boring. 'Fixing' is Jimmy's primary power - I've seen him mend everything from holes in jacket sleeves to the Jeep's bonnet after I accidentally scraped it on a driving lesson. The fewer materials used to build a thing, the easier he finds it, but after decades of practice he can comfortably wrestle with even the Atlantean tech that keeps the Guard running. The most time-consuming aspect is that Jimmy has to fix every component individually, then reassemble it all together. I once asked him if he could mend a broken bone like I could, but apparently that would involve cutting the flesh open down to the bone for him to touch it. Still, it's another use for his gift that I've filed away for if I ever need any help.

I shove the last bag of peas in Arkarian's "freezer" and collect up all of the plastic bags now strewn across the kitchen. Then, I head back over to the workroom where Arkarian and Jimmy are both lay on their backs under the same equipment from earlier.

"How's it going?" I ask, leaning against the doorway.

"Well, what is here isn't in bad shape," Jimmy says, picking up one of the metal discs by his side and pushing it up above him. "We are definitely going to need Neriah though. There's more bits and pieces missing than not."

"Disappointing," Arkarian says, pushing himself back out from under the console. "I didn't think there was that much missing."

"Really? What did you think all this empty space was for? Were the Atlanteans big on minimalism?" Jimmy jokes. "The bigger problem is I can't describe everything that's missing in enough detail for Neriah to draw it up. Please tell me this wasn't the only one of these thingies that we had."

"No, but its the only one I've been able to find in salvageable condition."

"I don't need the whole thing, just a couple of bits and bobs to at least _show _Neriah."

"I'll see what I can do, but I can't make any promises. I'm getting fewer and fewer returns from what I can get from the Citadel remains. Short of going through it literally brick by brick, we are out of options," Arkarian says with a resigned sigh.

For a moment, Jimmy stills, hand still against the underside of the console. His face is marred with a rare frown as he stares up ahead, lost deep in thought.

"Maybe not," he says finally, ducking his head back out and looking over at me. "Isabel, just how good is your eyesight?"

"As long as there's even a little bit of light, I can see as well as in the middle of the day," I reply, confused.

"Good, we'll need that. I have an idea," Jimmy hauls himself upright as he says this and marches over to a nearby workbench. He graps a sheet of paper and starts to make notes. "We'll need the three of us, and probably Matt and Neriah too."

"For what?" I ask, exasperated. I look over to Arkarian, hoping to find him as confused as I am, but apparently Jimmy is airing his thoughts because I find him simply nodding. "Hello? Not a Truthseer over here!"

Arkarian pulls himself up off the ground and puts one comforting arm around me. "Jimmy thinks we should try salvaging from Viridian instead. After being flooded most of the equipment down there won't work, but we can at least move it all up here and use it as a frame of reference for what we would be looking for moving forwards."

Jimmy scribbles some more on the paper and brings it over to us both. It's a list of words I vaguely recognise as names of the technological items that the Guard uses. Presumably, they are what we would be looking for. Arkarian takes it and scans through the list, nodding.

"There's some more I would like to add, but this would be an excellent start," he says.

"We can't do this now, I need to be home before Coral suspects something," Jimmy replies, picking his jacket up off of the side and dusting it off. "But we should make plans to go down as soon as possible."

"I would prefer to have at least Matt there too," Arkarian agrees, much to my surprise. "We will need him to move the water around," he continues, answering my unspoken question.

"Can't you do that?" I ask.

"Not such large quantities, I doubt even my whip would keep all of the water at bay for long."

"I imagine your brother will find it to be a nice break, not having to be in any meetings or make any decisions," Jimmy chuckles. He pats both of us on the arms and makes to leave, before doubling back. "That reminds me, Isabel. Where are you supposed to be tonight so I know what to say to your mother." He says this with a look of genuine concern on his face, but there's no unease or judgement. Jimmy hasn't really made much of any comment at all to me about my relationship with Arkarian, and I still don't know if that's a good thing or not.

"I'm staying at Neriah's with Matt, helping them set back up."

Jimmy raises his eyebrows and grins. "Playing the third wheel with your brother and his girlfriend? Bold choice for a cover story. I'll see you both soon, just let me know when you want to go down into Veridian." At that he turns again and strides straight through the open door leading to the outside world.

The rest of the day passes with little incident. Arkarian works some more whilst I do what little I can to help. I'm supposed to be learning to be another Administrator for the Guard like he is, but everything is in such chaos I'm now relegated to supporting whatever Arkarian is up to. Right now, that involves passing over tools when he requests them and listening to his steady explanations on what he is trying to do. None of it goes in, but I enjoy listening to the sound of his voice.

In the evening, we retire to the library. The library is the only room in Arkarian's chambers that could really be considered a luxury, and even though I've never been a big reader it's easily my favourite room. The minute we walk through the door I jump over onto the large leather couch that sits in front of an old open fireplace, which Arkarian lights. He explained to me once how the smoke is reused in various places throughout the chambers - everything in his chambers has a function, and is usually recycled back in some way. Atlanteans were the original eco-warriors. Arkarian flops down on the sofa next to me and pulls me close so my head is resting on his chest. Contentment washes over me as he gently runs his hands through my hair. The room warms quickly, and the smell of old books mixes pleasantly with wood smoke completing the cosy atmosphere.

"Hmmmm, this is nice," I say, snaking one arm across his chest. He hums lightly in return and plants a kiss on the top of my head. With his free arm he reaches over to a wooden stand next to him and plucks a book off the top. "What is it tonight?" I ask, struggling to stifle a yawn.

"Hey, no sleeping, please," he says as he playfully wiggles his shoulder to jostle me about. "I have us all set to leave at ten and we both need to be asleep by then. If you nap now you won't be able to sleep later."

"I'm not tired." Another yawn threatens to betray me as I say this, and I clench my jaw tight.

"Of course you're not."

"I'm not! It's just the warmth from the fire making me lethargic!"

"I wasn't arguing, I was agreeing with you."

I tilt my face up towards his, eyes narrowed in a playful glare, and catch him smirking down at me. Before I get a chance to argue some more, he leans around and catches my lips in his, setting the book in his hands back down as he does so. I wriggle around so I'm facing him properly now, and return his kiss with enthusiasm. Six-hundred years has made Arkarian an extremely talented kisser, and I feel myself practically melt into his arms. Kissing him feels like the deepest indulgence, rich and skilful as he nibbles gently on my lower lip. I slip one hand into his silky hair and pull him closer to me so that his chest is flush against my own. Then, as has happened many times previously, he pulls away as suddenly as he started, and kisses my forehead. Always one soft kiss to my forehead. Every time. Without fail.

I sag backwards and try not to look to disappointed as he glances away swiftly, reaching back over to the book he discarded. I wish I could read his thoughts most of all in moments like this. Despite what our friends may believe, up to this point our relationship has been depressingly chaste. Arkarian has never really commented upon the subject, he just simply stops any time we look to be progressing into anything that could even vaguely be thought of as sexual. It's driving me crazy not knowing what's holding him back. I know that he's not a virgin, so it can't be that. I could be insecure about it, but I've caught him looking me up and down once or twice before, so presumably he does find me physically attractive. And we have gotten to this point _several _times before. I just wish I was brave enough to hear his reasoning, but he clearly doesn't want to offer it right now.

"Isabel?"

"Huh?" I snap back to reality and realise that Arkarian was just asking me something.

"I asked if you minded The Phantom of the Opera? It's the only one I think you'll like that's close by."

"No, that sounds great." I settle back down and rest my head this time on his lap, gazing up at him as he cracks the book open and holds it in his eyeline. He lets one hand rest on my stomach and rubs it gently with his thumb as he begins to read aloud. The book is in the original French, but Arkarian translates as he goes along for my benefit. Once or twice he's tried reading to me in French, but my French isn't strong enough to understand the more complex language in most classics and Arkarian had to keep stopping to translate for me.

Listening to Arkarian's smooth voice, combined with the heady smells of the library and the warmth spreading through my body, it's not long before I feel myself drifting off. The tide of sleep seems impossible to fight, so I let myself go with it. Just as I teeter on the edge of dreaming, a prickling pain runs through me.

Panicking, I try to wriggle to alert Arkarian to an oncoming vision, but its as if I'm locked in my body. I've never had a vision when I'm midway between awake and asleep before, and the sensation is alarming. It feels as though I have pins and needles running through me, but I can't cry out in pain or even move. I'm dimly aware of Arkarian's voice somewhere off in the distance, although I can't tell if he's still reading or trying to get through to me. It doesn't matter anymore as confusing images flash across my vision.

I'm looking through someone's - no, I'm looking through _my own_ point of view. I can see my hair across my face and I'm stood at the right height for it to be myself. I think I'm in a cave but there's a bright light dazzling me. Gold, silver and pure white streaks of blinding light shoot across my vision, wrapping tighter and tighter around me, as if forming a cocoon. The closer the light gets the more apparent it becomes that it's white hot and already threatening to burn my skin - it's beautiful but terrifying. My heart slams against my chest and it's impossible to tell if it's part of the vision or my current bodily state. The light threatens to wrap itself directly against me and from somewhere close by I hear Arkarian's impassioned voice cry out my name. He sounds as scared as I am.


	2. Two - Arkarian

**Two - Arkarian**

"Isabel? Isabel!"

Isabel launches herself upright, sending my book flying out of my hands and her forehead smacking into my chin. She hunches over, breathing hard and visibly shaking. I put one arm around her and try to subtly rub my chin as I comfort her, spreading a wave of calm washing through her through my free hand.

"Isabel? What's wrong? What happened?"

It's a long while before she answers me, and even then her breath is still ragged. "Did you see that?"

"See what?"

"My vision," she replies, turning her head to look at me. My heart breaks as I see she looks terrified. I hope my face isn't betraying my concern. Normally Isabel's visions storm not only through her mind, but also the mind of any Truthseer nearby who's not actively suppressing their powers - usually myself. Keeping her thoughts screened is nearly impossible when the pain of a vision hits.

"I'm sorry, Isabel. I didn't see anything," I confess, keeping my hand rubbing in soothing circles on her back.

"I felt like I was burning… no, I_ was _burning… there was this light, Arkarian, and it was all around me and…" Isabel trails off as tears begin to well in her eyes. I pull her close to me, abandoning my surely-bruised chin, and envelop her in a tight embrace as she begins to cry.

"You're ok, Isabel," I whisper in her ear. "You're safe."

"I've never watched myself die before. I didn't know I would feel it," she sobs into my shoulder.

I clutch her even tighter and ask the question I want to know the answer to the least: "Do you know when?" She shakes her head. "Well," I continue evenly, "your vision could be centuries from now. It may never even happen - remember Laura?"

Her sobs eventually slow as I begin to rock her slowly in my arms. After several minutes, Isabel whispers to me in the tiniest voice. "Don't let me burn, Arkarian."

"I won't," I reassure her. And I mean it. I will stop at nothing to make sure that Isabel's vision never comes to pass. "Can you show me what you saw?"

There's a long pause whilst Isabel gathers herself. Eventually, she nods and opens her thoughts to me. The vision takes place entirely from Isabel's point of view, and it only really consists of bright lights getting closer and closer to her skin. She tells me with her thoughts, but I don't feel myself, that the lights are burning hot. I hear my own voice cry out Isabel's name, presumably from when she became unresponsive in my lap when I tried to talk to her, and the vision ends. I let out a deep breath and pull her closer to me.

"We should tell the Tribunal tonight," Isabel says, pulling me out of my thoughts.

"We will. I promise you, Isabel, I won't let anything happen to you." I pull away from her and gently take her face in my hands, wiping away the remnants of her tears with my thumbs. Her face is blotchy and her eyes are full of worry, but despite it all, she's still the most beautiful person I've ever seen. I force a small smile onto my face and kiss her on the tip of her nose, a move that makes her giggle.

My stomach is in knots as we prepare for bed early. I slip away briefly to my central chamber to open a portal between here and Athens, and take the brief moment alone to sag against the console, finally sliding down until I'm sat on the floor. Grief washes over me wave after wave, and suddenly I find myself holding back tears of my own. The prospect of losing Isabel is too much to bear. I've lost too many people in my life, and I don't know if I could cope to lose the most important one.

_I wish Lorian was here. _

This thought takes me by surprise. Would Lorian really know what to do now? He made so many mistakes in his long life, and we're still picking up the pieces of many of them. Perhaps I am still no better than the child I was when I first joined the Guard - crying out for an absent father, for someone to guide _me _for once, rather than having to stumble blindly along on my own. Ironic that the only father figure I had in my life turned out to be the absent parent I was struggling so much without.

_And now you're losing the family you finally managed to forge. _

Lorian is dead. Three members of the Tribunal - Sir Syford, Meridian, and Lady Devine - some of my only life-long friends and colleagues, are also dead. The Atlanteans have also moved on to the afterlife. Ethan has completely withdrawn within himself, and Shaun, sick with worry for his son, can only send me short messages with Jimmy. Matt, apparently my only blood family in this realm, only tolerates me for Isabel's sake. If something happened to her I can only begin to imagine Matt's wrath. And Isabel… she's had to watch herself die. Her worst fear has been realised.

Since Isabel's vision of Ethan's mother attempting to kill herself, she has lived in fear of seeing the end of someone else's life. I don't think anyone had even considered that it would be her own. A sick feeling creeps over me as I remember one crucial point - Isabel's visions have never been too far in the future. Whatever the threat on her life may be, it's most likely imminent.

I realise I'm crying now, tears spilling down my cheeks. I'm glad Isabel is taking a shower, I don't want her to worry about me any more than she already is. My love is a master at hiding her thoughts most of the time, but the rare glimpses I have had have been worrying. Her mind can do next to nothing but dwell on the distress of everybody around her. I wipe my eyes on my sleeves and haul myself up off of the ground. I have to be strong for Isabel. Luckily for me, I've always found it easy to disguise my feelings. I am a master of self-suppression.

Isabel is just wandering out of the bathroom when I get back out into the hallway, wrapped in a large white towel and skin pink from the heat of the water, wet hair plastered to her shoulders and back. She looks breathtaking. She gives me a tentative smile and I hold up two vials of sleep potion for her to see.

"We should get going to Athens as soon as we can," I say, handing her one. "The portal will open in an hour."

"Are you sure this is what you want?" she asks, pushing my bedroom door open.

"If it meant we could get help, I would cut my fingers off one by one."

"Wow… that's… violent… are you ok?" Isabel looks as shocked as I am at my words. I'm being over-dramatic. I don't feel exactly like myself right now.

"I'm sorry, that was unnecessarily morbid," I say, reaching over to give her free hand a squeeze. She stares hard into my eyes, trying to get a read on me. Unsuccessful, she drops my hand and looks away. My words have only made her worry even more.

"Let's just go to bed," she says as she retrieves her spare pajamas from a chest of drawers next to the door. She doesn't look at me as she steps behind a screen in the corner to change.

Whilst she gets changed, I grab my own night clothes and change into them. Isabel thinks my night clothes hilarious, but she's getting used to them. I wear a loose fitting linen shirt and soft trousers, which apparently makes me look like a Victorian farmer, but they're comfortable and warm and I like them. Just as I pull the shirt over my head, Isabel steps out from behind the screen and throws her clothes into her backpack.

"Hey," she says, grabbing my hand. "I'm sorry for freaking out on you, I'm just really shaken up right now."

"And I'm sorry for being so grim. It's the last thing you need right now." I lift her hand to my lips and kiss her palm.

"It's not your fault. I'm being over-sensitive."

"No, it really is."

"Don't be silly, Kar. It's entirely on me."

"Isabel, I-" Isabel cuts me off with a kiss. It's soft and sweet, and an excellent distraction. We pull apart but lean our foreheads against the other's. For a few wonderful moments, everything in my line of vision is her warm brown eyes, and my thoughts are about nothing but when I can kiss her again.

"Bed," she says simply, and pulls me in that direction.

Sharing a bed is something I haven't really done in at least fifty years, until Isabel. There's something comforting about being able to feel the weight of a person next to you whilst you sleep, and I'm glad to have someone with me again. The only downside is having to reteach myself to stay on one side of the bed. Isabel always sleeps on the left-hand side, which I thought would be something that wouldn't affect me much. That was, until I rolled over two nights ago clean onto the floor. I have yet to live it down. I sigh as Isabel jokingly lays some spare pillows on the floor on the right-hand side of the bed.

"What?" she asks innocently. "I just don't want you to hurt yourself!"

"That was one time!"

"Suuuuure it was."

She smirks as she climbs under the covers. I join her and pull her back flush against me - 'spooning', she once called it.

"Arkarian?"

"Yes?"

"We need to drink our potions."

"I know, I just wanted to lie with you for a short while first," I confess. She shuffles backwards and closer to me instinctively, and wraps her arms around mine.

"I'm still messed up. About earlier," she says.

"I know. I would be too."

"I guess I just have to stay out of caves and everything will be fine."

"Isabel?"

"Yeah?"

"My chambers are technically a cave."

"Ah."

"We should take that potion now."

"Yeah, we really should."

Isabel props herself up on one arm and reaches over to grab her vial from the bedside table, and I twist around to grab my own. She clinks her vial against mine before drinking, a playful smile on her lips. At least she looks to be a little better. We lie back down together, this time with Isabel's head on my chest. I run my fingers through her hair absent-mindedly, and wait for sleep to take me.

I don't even realise I've drifted off until I land firmly on my feet in one of the few temporary rooms erected in what used to be the Citadel. Outside the door will be a small corridor with small holding rooms along each side, ending in a platform that is currently permanently stationed over Athens, our destination. My mind still struggles with the idea of the Citadel, my home for almost six centuries, being reduced to just a tiny jumble of hastily-erected rooms and a corridor. I will always remember its endless sprawl and splendour, so much of which I still never got around to seeing. There were indoor farms that for all intents and purposes would make you believe that you were truly outside in the fresh air, with rolling fields as far as the eye could see. There were whole apartments, arranged into distinct districts that housed the thousands of Atlanteans and myself. Not to mention the rooms that were just _strange _, seemingly serving no purpose at all other than to be there to cause discomfort and annoyance. One of my more embarrassing memories of the Citadel is the first mission Isabel and I had together, when it was apparently deemed necessary to put us alone together in a room with a gigantic heart-shaped bed. Subtle.

As if summoned by my thoughts, Isabel suddenly appears next to me, sticking her landing well. I give her a brief kiss by way of greeting, and motion to the lonely mirror stood in the corner, slightly cracked along the edges and the only piece of furniture present in this empty space. Wordlessly, we go over and stand in front of it, the mirror changing our respective nightclothes into tunics more suitable to be walking around ancient Athens in.

"They've changed the colours again," Isabel murmurs, picking at her top. I note with satisfaction that she is now clad in the same silver as myself, only now with new additions for both of us of golden belts.

"I expect the Named will all have the same colours now," I remark. "We're receiving the highest honours short of being on the Tribunal."

My tunic has been silver for centuries now, a reflection of my high status as Head Administrator, but the golden cord is new, something I have only seen previously on Neriah, who was destined to be a future Tribunal member. I wonder idly if Matt has a new plan for the Named moving forward. Isabel, usually clad in pure white with a blue belt, symbolising her status as a healer, looks dazzling in her new tunic, the golden belt tying in nicely with her blonde hair.

"You look beautiful," I say, placing a kiss on the top of her head.

"Yeah, I know," she replies with a grin. "Come on, let's get out of here."

We walk out of the room and down the stark white corridor to the very end, which to the untrained eye looks like a thick fog. Far below us, but apparently not so far that Isabel's enhanced sight can't make it out, lies Athens in the year 461 BC, a city just heading into its golden age.

"I always hate this part," Isabel mutters, clutching my hand and peering out over the edge.

"And here I was thinking that you were 'the fearless one'."

"I'm not scared!" Isabel fires back. "I just have a bit of verti-whatsit."

"Vertigo. And that's not what vertigo is."

"Whatever." She squeezes my hand tighter and screws her eyes closed. "Let's just do this."

Still holding hands, we step out into empty space and almost immediately stumble into a serene courtyard. Isabel staggers a little bit and bumps into me, and I feign a dramatic fall to the floor, pulling her down with me.

"Now why would you do that to me?" I ask playfully, my face arranged into the picture of innocence.

She giggles and swats my arm lightly. "Keep messing around and I'll do a lot worse." Her face falls again and she glances around. "We should probably find a member of the Tribunal before we do anything else."

I nod silently. The courtyard we've arrived in is one of many, but has always been my favourite. It borders the Tribunal members' private chambers and the more public Guard headquarters - few ever have a reason to set foot here. It's where the bulk of my training, largely meditation in the early years, took place.

This thought sends my head spinning again as I reflect back on the two hundred years I spent as Lorian's apprentice. All those years spent not knowing that my father was inches away - teaching me how to hold a sword, how to control my powers, how to read and write and speak new languages. A gentle hand rests on my knee - its Isabel, eyes full of concern once more.

"Are you okay?"

"I'll be fine. I wasn't anticipating so many memories to come flooding back," I say, standing upright and helping her up off of the ground at the same time.

Together, we head towards the foyer of the Tribunal members' chambers. I reach for the door, but it opens in front of me and Brystianne walks straight into me, followed closely by two members of her House Guard.

"Arkarian? Arkarian!"

Suddenly I'm blinded by blonde hair and golden fabric as Brystianne throws her arms around me and pulls me into a tight embrace.

"I'm so glad to see you at last!" Brystianne enthuses as she pulls away to look at me. She looks tired, but otherwise well, and is draped in slightly less finery than usual. Her gaze slides from me over to Isabel, and I'm surprised when she pulls her into an equally ferocious hug. "Isabel! It hasn't been the same without you here!"

"Um… thank you?" Isabel says, her voice muffled by Brystianne's robes.

"It has been far too long. It will be good to have you here for a few days again," Brystianne says, relinquishing her grasp on Isabel and beaming at both of us. Behind her, her two guards shuffle awkwardly, unsure of what to do.

"Actually we were intending on a slightly more extended stay this time," I say. "I know there is a lot of work that still needs to be done, and I have many updates on salvage progress for the Tribunal." It's not a total lie, but I'm not quite sure why I do not tell Brystianne to summon the Tribunal there and then. My stomach is in knots and the words won't come out. It strikes me that I'm actually _afraid _, as if acknowledging Isabel's vision will doom her forever.

Brystianne, as always, seems aware that I'm holding something back. Her gaze slides over to Isabel, and then back to me again, her expression smoothing out into thoughtfulness. I feel a gentle prying at the edge of my mind as she tries to probe at my thoughts, but I've been concealing them for far too many centuries now to buckle that easily.

"Queen Brystianne, we need to speak with all available Tribunal members as soon as we can," Isabel says, voice even and carrying a weight that feels as though it doesn't belong to her. I turn to see her stood bolt upright, shoulders back, and jaw set in determination. It seems that she has decided to face this head-on. I admire her.

I have never thought myself to be a coward, but in contrast to Isabel's unerring bravery I must look one. Many times before I have wished to be more decisive, to face anything that comes my way head-on, but I always find myself wanting to take a step back and over-examine every move that I make. Isabel and I compliment each other wonderfully in that way. I am restraint and moderation whilst she is unbridled passion and defiance.

"Something has happened?" Brystianne asks as she waves her guards back inside, presumably to summon the other Tribunal members.

"Not yet," Isabel says, expression unreadable.

Brystianne nods and glances over to the opposite doors, the ones that lead to the headquarters and moreover, to the central meeting chamber.

"Give us a few moments. We will be there," Brystianne says, before using her wings and vanishing in front of our eyes.

As I make to walk over to the headquarters, Isabel reaches out and grabs my arm, stopping me mid-stride.

"Kar," she says, voice barely above a whisper. "I'll be ok."

I force a smile to my face. "I know you will. That doesn't make me worry any less, though."

"You told me that some Tribunal members have been around for hundreds of thousands of years. Someone is bound to know what that light is."

"I'm sure you're right." She releases her grip on my arm and slides her own arm through mine.

We turn and walk across the courtyard and through the headquarters hallways to the central meeting chamber. We stop briefly outside the ornate doors and I hear a flurry of activity within.

"Ready?" I ask.

Isabel takes a deep breath in and nods once, then pushes the door open.

Everyone available is seated in their usual seats around the room, four now conspicuously empty. A hush descends as Isabel and I walk into the centre of the room. Everyone looks exhausted, I notice, not one face unmarred my dark circles under eyes and even the enormous Lord Penbarin looks thinner. It's Penbarin who speaks first.

"Isabel. Arkarian. It's good to see you both." He gestures over to my father's former seat and I try to ignore the stabbing feeling that suddenly hits me in the gut. "Isabel, we were unable to contact your brother at such short notice, but if you prefer we can wait for him and Lady Neriah to be raised."

Isabel shakes her head. "Thank you, my lord, but no. I think it's better that I speak to my brother myself. Besides, it will do him good to get a solid night's sleep for once."

A small ripple of laughter goes around the room at Isabel's last comment. Isabel has always been well-liked amongst the Tribunal, her sheer force of personality frankly impossible to dislike. She has always been charming, and her concern for her brother is only more endearing.

"Queen Brystianne said that you needed to speak with us?" King Richard asks from my left.

"We do," I confirm with a nod. "Isabel has had a vision, and it is… troubling."

Isabel clears her throat and opens her mind, projecting her vision outwards. The room goes deadly quiet as the Tribunal process what they are seeing. Long after Isabel's vision fades, the stillness remains.

"You believe that to be your own point of view?" Penbarin asks with a frown.

"I do, my lord."

"And that light, it burnt you?"

"Not that I actually saw, but I could feel that it would as soon as it touched me."

The room goes quiet again and for a moment I think that the Tribunal must be communicating via their thoughts, but I can't hear anything. Everyone seems lost within their own minds.

"If I may…" comes a quiet voice from behind me. I turn to see Lady Arabella, potentially looking the worst out of everyone present, her usual blue-tinged skin a sickly green. She's gaunt, and I wonder when was the last time she ate. "Isabel could you please show me that one more time?"

Isabel nods and airs the vision again, and this time Lady Arabella frowns.

"Those lights… they're… familiar. But I can't place from where," she says, leaning back in her seat. She rubs her temples and lets her eyes flutter closed. "No… I can't seem to recall…"

"It's okay, Lady Arabella," Isabel says softly. "I just… thought you should all be aware."

"Isabel, you must forgive me. I know I have seen lights like that before, but to be honest I think everyone here is feeling somewhat exhausted at present. I will think on this, and get back to you," Lady Arabella replies with a weak smile.

If anyone on the Tribunal were to recognise anything, it makes sense that it would be Lady Arabella - she is the oldest amongst the current Tribunal members, descended directly from an Atlantean ambassador who married a northern magician in times before the Guard was even created. Whilst Lady Arabella is unable to wield magic herself, the presence of magic in her bloodline has made her powers unusually strong, and her affinity with ice and the cold has spread through her very being. She was the first Tribunal member ever appointed, if I remember correctly, but I'm not completely certain. There is so much that I don't know about her, upon reflection. Her undying love for my father always put distance between them, and, by proxy, us. However, I have always considered her to be amongst the gentlest people I know, and it was her who gave me the ability to remain calm and in control of my own emotions. It's an ability that many have been surprised to find I have over the years, but back then I could be somewhat hotheaded and quick to anger. Tranquility has proved itself to be one of my most useful gifts over the years. Lady Arabella has always had a keen insight into the gifts people need the most.

"In the meantime," Penbarin cuts in, "under normal circumstances we would order a protective detail on you, Isabel. However, you find yourself already surrounded on a daily basis with the best and brightest the Guard has to offer, not to mention your own impressive skillset."

Murmurs of agreement echo around the room and Penbarin waits for silence before he continues.

"I would suggest taking full advantage of your friends and family, and don't let yourself be isolated from others. How is the development of your second skill fairing?"

I grimace, but I hope Isabel doesn't see. Since the enhancement of the Named's skills, Isabel's psychic abilities have been wildly unpredictable. We have been working hard to harness her ability's limitless potential, but with mixed results.

"Progress is slow, my lord," Isabel replies. "I can project warnings and thoughts well enough, but only to truthseers with complete accuracy. Non-truthseers tend to either drop like stones when I send them a message, or get nothing at all." Her last sentence reminds me of an afternoon of what should have been physical training, when Isabel experimented with her powers whilst I was sparring with Ethan. Isabel's goal was to use her ability to peer into the near-future, predict my movements, and then pass them on to Ethan. She struggled only a little with predicting my movements, which was of no consequence considering Ethan wanted to spar anyway. Disaster truly struck when she finally got 'into the zone' and tried to send what she saw over to Ethan. The assault on Ethan's mind sent him stumbling, and directly into my oncoming fist, breaking his nose. Isabel was distraught the whole time she was healing him, but Ethan luckily found humour in the situation.

"Maybe you can just blast people's brains in your next fight, you wouldn't have to lift a finger!" he had chuckled, clutching a rag to his face to stem the flow of blood.

"Isabel's visions are still unpredictable as well, my lord," I chime in. "She can look into the near-future if she uses her full focus, but she can only see a few minutes ahead at best. She is still struggling to block out incoming visions, as well."

"They still hurt like a bitch, too."

Isabel's comment has everyone smiling. I'm glad she hasn't taken my honest assessment personally. In time, Isabel's psychic powers could be a force to be reckoned with, but for now there is much work to be done on tempering and refining them.

"Well, the best advice I can offer in that case is to send word to Lord Matthew or Lady Neriah if you find yourself in trouble. I'm sorry that is the best we can offer until we can find out more about what you saw."

"That is not entirely true, Lord Penbarin." It's King Richard again, only when I look over at him he is now on his feet, rolling up his sleeves. "This was meant to be a surprise, and no doubt I will get into trouble for revealing this early, but I'm sure Lord Matthew will grant me a pardon if this can keep you safe."

He walks over to Isabel and clasps one of her hands between his.

"Your highness?" Isabel asks, confused. Once again, her unwillingness to accept any praise or reward means she's blind to what's coming.

"I was not present for your induction into the Guard Isabel, nor was I for your Arkarian. Which means I find myself owing both of you a gift. Arkarian, I beg your forgiveness but I have yet to decide what to give you. For you, however, Isabel, I have already spoken with your brother and we have agreed what the best reward for all of your hard work and bravery would be," King Richard says, smiling at both of us in turn.

I feel a wide smile spread across my face and see all of the Tribunal members in my line of vision are smiling too - Elenna has even begun to preemptively clap lightly.

"Isabel Becket, on behalf of the House of Veridian, I am proud to award you with your wings."


	3. Three - Isabel

**Three - Isabel**

My whole body is still shaking slightly as Arkarian and I walk out of the Tribunal Chamber, and my enhanced eyesight can pick up the faintest of glows emanating from within me. On our way out, various Tribunal members stop us to congratulate me on my new gift. King Richard gives me a squeeze on my shoulder and apologises for not being able to do more for me, but getting my wings falls well beyond what I was hoping for.

'Wings' aren't physical feathered appendages that stick out of your back, like you might think upon hearing the name. Instead, it's the nickname given to the ability to teleport yourself from one place to another. Arkarian once told me that he's never heard of any mortal having the gift from birth, it has to be given. Being given your wings is to receive the Guard's highest honour, and I'm floored that the Tribunal thinks I'm worthy. I'm also keenly aware that this could change my future immensely. The sooner I can get to grips with my wings, the easier it will be to wriggle out of any life-threatening situations that may be looming - including those burning lights.

"Maybe this would be a good way to bring Ethan out of hiding," I mutter to Arkarian. "I'm sure he'd love the chance at revenge for me laughing at him when he was learning how to use his wings."

"That would be good for him," Arkarian agrees.

"Maybe speaking to you would be good for him too? Not to drag this up but you know a thing or two about what it's like to lose the people you care about."

Arkarian frowns and glances away from me, looking deep in thought. For a moment I think I've hit a nerve, and I'm about to apologise when he opens his mouth to speak again.

"I can't believe I didn't think of that before," he says.

"What? You speaking to Ethan? Honestly I'm surprised too."

"No… not me… Jimmy."

"Jimmy?" I ask, confused. "What about Jimmy?"

"Jimmy is the one who should be speaking to Ethan."

Arkarian's reply blindsides me. As far as I know, Jimmy and Ethan have never interacted much beyond official Guard business and polite hellos and goodbyes. I can't exactly see what Jimmy would have to offer in this situation. Sure, he's really good at cheering people up, but I know that if I lost Arkarian it would take more than a few dad jokes to make me feel better.

"Yeah… I'm still not following."

Arkarian looks at me, puzzled. His face stays that way for a moment before switching to realisation and then… embarrassment?

"Ah. I'm sorry, I'm not sure if this is my story to share."

"What story?"

Arkarian studies me for a moment as he presses his lips tightly together. I can tell he's debating whether or not to continue with what he was saying or whether to drop it. The decision doesn't take him long. He knows me, and he knows that I won't drop the subject even if he wants to.

"You know Jimmy used to be married, I trust?"

I frown. It's been mentioned only once or twice, and only by mom as a side note to Matt and me. "Yeah? So?"

Arkarian stares wordlessly at me and then the penny drops.

"Oh. I thought he was divorced… I didn't know she died."

"She did. If anyone knows what Ethan is going through right now, it would be Jimmy. I still have you, even after everything, and I can't imagine how hollow my words would sound if I was the one trying to relate to him."

"Would Jimmy even want to speak to him about it?"

Arkarian hesitates as he considers my question.

"I don't know," he admits. "Hannah's death really hurt Jimmy. He grieved for years."

"Hannah? You knew her?"

"She was a member of the Guard… I introduced them."

"You never mentioned," I say, trying to disguise how much this information has me reeling. "Poor Jimmy, I've never even heard him mention her."

Arkarian gives my hand a small squeeze and presses his lips to my forehead. I can't imagine ever-cheerful Jimmy struggling to cope with grief. He's such a nice guy, it's horrible to think that once he was as broken up as Ethan is now.

"I would appreciate it if you didn't say anything to him," Arkarian says quietly. "I shouldn't be spreading such information around without his permission."

"I won't," I promise. Being with Arkarian has made me an expert secret-keeper, now that I'm privy to so much more of the Guard's inner workings. Sometimes it feels like my head is going to explode with all of the secrets I know now, and keeping up my mental barrier when I'm out in the mortal world is a crucial task. "But, can I ask one more question?"

Arkarian nods.

"How did she die?"

Before Arkarian can answer me, the chamber doors slide open behind us and the Tribunal comes filtering out at last. Everyone shoots me warm smiles and congratulate me again in turn. They all look terrible, and I hope they're all going to rest up, even though the more realistic part of my brain knows that they're all about to throw themselves back into more work.

Queen Brystianne is last out, closing the chamber doors behind her. She comes over to us, looking sheepish.

"Isabel, congratulations. I can't think of a more deserving person to be getting their wings."

"Thank you, my lady." I dip my head briefly in her direction, and try to offer her a small smile. I wonder if I will ever feel truly comfortable around Queen Brystianne, as I do now around most other members of the Tribunal, but every time she's near me I can't help but compare myself to her. She's so beautiful… so intelligent… so _tall_…

"I want to apologise for my behaviour. Things here have been…" she pauses as she struggles to find the right words.

"Strained?" Arkarian offers her kindly.

Queen Brystianne smiles at him gratefully, and I try to ignore the twist in my stomach.

"Yes, exactly. I was somewhat over-excited about your arrival. It's a relief to see some friendly faces that aren't my fellow Tribunal members," she continues. "Except for Dillon of course, but he's largely stayed away from us."

"_Dillon?_" I ask incredulously.

"We didn't know Dillon was here," Arkarian says more calmly, nothing in his expression betraying his inner thoughts.

"He's been here almost constantly since the final battle," Queen Brystianne confirms, twisting the opulent jewelled bracelets around her wrists. "As I said, he's barely been seen. I know Lord Matthew has spoken with him several times to debrief him about the Rochelle incident, but we don't know much beyond that."

_The Rochelle incident._ The words stab me unexpectedly in the gut, and it occurs to me that it's the first time I've heard anyone say her name since she died. We've all been skirting around it, and the loss of her has gone largely unacknowledged, save for the impact it's had on Ethan. Guilt washes over me. Poor Rochelle, her death reduced to just an incident to be debriefed and moved on from. And no-one has even taken the time to speak her name aloud.

"Has he been pardoned?" Arkarian asks.

Queen Brystianne shakes her head. "He hasn't even had his trial yet. Lord Matthew is struggling to get any information at all out of him, and very little on the current situation has been passed back to the rest of us. As best we understand, Dillon is here of his own volition, but he's not talking."

"So what _is _he doing here?"

Queen Brystianne shrugs, and gestures for us to walk with her down the corridor, which we do. Footsteps and the soft clink of jewellery echo off of the shiny marble walls as we head back towards the golden courtyard that we first arrived in. As we reach the doors that lead outside, Queen Brystianne pauses and turns to face us.

"It has been struggle enough to hold the Guard together after everything that has happened, but now further disquiet is building," she says in a low voice. "The Tribunal is stretched far too thinly to be sustainable, and there are… concerns about Lord Matthew's ability to lead."

"What!" I exclaim loudly.

"Not here," Queen Brystianne whispers, glancing behind us to check that nobody is listening. "Dine with me in my chambers this evening, we can discuss matters there."

With that, she turns from us and walks through the doors back out into the sunlight, leaving us stood alone in the corridor. For a long time, neither myself or Arkarian say anything. We just stare at the closed door in front of us.

"What the fuck," I say finally.

Arkarian looks as lost as I do. It's bad enough knowing that Matt doesn't have any confidence in himself, even worse to know that there are members of the Tribunal who feel the same way.

"Who do you think…?"

"I honestly have no idea. Brystianne is right though, we shouldn't be discussing this in public. Follow me."

Slipping his hand into mine, Arkarian leads me back the way we came, past the main Chamber and into another familiar part of the headquarters.

The administration section is where we spend the bulk of our time in Athens. It's home to several huge libraries filled with records stretching back since the Guard's creation, recording not only every single Guard member and every single mission ever undertaken, but also intelligence on every major event throughout human history. Part of Arkarian's job, and now mine too, is tracing every portal that opens and cross referencing with major events on file, and identifying potential threats to our timeline. If anything important has happened, it's written down somewhere in here.

Every room in the administration section is under heavy protection, and Arkarian has informed me that if we didn't have express permission to be there, we wouldn't be able to find our way to it. The hallways and rooms would shift around, similar to how the rooms in his personal chambers do, and you could never gain access to the files. Even if you get past the hallways, the top-level access rooms have everything from blood scanners to saliva samplers. Once we are in a corridor at the furthest point of the administration section, we stop and look around us.

"In here," I say, gesturing over to a room on the left. It has a blood scanner attached to the wall and I put my hand on it. I feel the tiniest pinch as a series of tiny needles punch their way into my palms and withdraw again, gathering a sample of my DNA to analyse. For a moment, nothing happens. At last, the door creaks open and the two of us slip into the room beyond.

"Where are we?" I ask, looking around at the hundreds of thousands of scrolls that pour from heavy wooden shelving units.

"Family histories of Guard members apparently," Arkarian answers, pulling a scroll from a nearby shelf and examining it. "Australasian region."

"Do you think mine is in here?" I wonder aloud, glancing up and down the aisles.

"I'm not sure. Mine was never in here, nor in the European section. I used to think it was because nothing was known about my family, but now I believe it to be because my father's identity had to be kept a secret. I don't know if Matt's father would mean that your family's history is hidden too."

"Matt's father has nothing to do with me, why would they hide my information too?" I say, pulling another scroll from nearby. The name at the top of the scroll declares it to be the family tree of 'Elizabeth Shaw: b. 1904 -d. 1944'. Lines spider their way across the page, some names written in a dark, inky black, others in gold and red. Near the very top, some forty or more generations back, there are a couple of names written in a shining silver.

"I imagine that indicating that you and Matt have different fathers would raise questions to the casual onlooker."

I snort. "Casual onlooker? Who can even access these apart from the Tribunal and us?"

"Back then there was every possibility of a traitor in the Tribunal," Arkarian reminds me, reshelving the scroll he was holding.

"There still is," I say grimly. I take a seat at a table nestled in the centre of the room and set Elizabeth's scroll down in front of me, staring at it intensely without really taking anything in. From his original position near the entrance, Arkarian sighs and slowly makes his way to the seat next to me.

"Isabel, don't think like that," he says soothingly, taking my hands in his.

"Why shouldn't I? You heard Queen Brystianne," I snap back. I don't look at him. I can't.

"She only said that there was a lack of confidence. It's not as if they're staging a coup."

"And how long until they are?"

Arkarian squeezes my hands and kisses me once on the cheek, before releasing his grip and sliding his arm around me.

"I have known the Tribunal almost my entire life. I trust them absolutely."

"Well maybe you're wrong!" I say, heat rising through my body. "Matt is trying so damn hard it's almost killing him! Even Lorian would be struggling to deal with everything right now! They're just looking for someone to blame for their own incompetence!"

As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I regret them. Arkarian stills beside me, and I know I've offended him. He removes his arm from around me and sags back in his seat, staring dead ahead. An awkwardness that I've never felt between us before hangs uncomfortably in the air.

"I'm sorry," I say. "I didn't mean-"

"What did you mean, Isabel?" Arkarian cuts across me. "Tempers are frayed at the moment, that's true. And yes, everyone is looking for someone else to blame, including you, apparently."

His words sting, but I know he doesn't mean for them to. Arkarian's assessments are always honest, at times to the point of brutality, but he's never unfair. The anger that was threatening to explode inside me slowly begins to dissipate, replaced by a creeping shame and regret.

"I'm just so angry," I confess, dropping my gaze to look down at my hands that are twisting restlessly around each other in my lap. "I feel like I just don't know what's going to happen next and no one is talking to each other and nothing is being resolved and everything is getting worse and worse and everyone is falling apart. And now everything with my vision… it's so unfair. We deserve a break. I want to fix things and I just can't. I failed Ethan. I failed Rochelle. God I failed Rochelle. She was so _lonely_ and I knew that and I never reached out to her. I should have protected her, I should have been there when Marduke went after her, like I promised I would be. Matt is barely keeping his head above water and there's nothing I can do to help and-"

Arkarian silences me with gentle hands stilling my own. I finally lift my gaze to meet his and he presses a soft kiss to my lips.

"I just feel angry all the time," I finish with a whisper. "Angry at how powerless I feel."

"I understand," he replies quietly. "There is so much happening all at once, and nothing that one person can do to solve everyone else's problems."

"So what am I supposed to do?"

"Solve one problem at a time," he answers simply, giving my hands a squeeze. "Please forgive me for what I'm about to say?"

"Shoot."

"Matt has a track record of accusations and not trusting other Guard members. I can't imagine that being the best introduction to the person who is supposed to lead you. Having Dillon here without explanation and without conducting a trial is only going to reinforce in the minds of the Tribunal the idea that Matt doesn't trust them to do their jobs."

"Speaking from experience, there?"

He smiles goodnaturedly. "Perhaps a little. We should find out everything we can from Brystianne later - there may be things we can do to help Matt out without causing too much of a problem for the Tribunal and without stepping on his toes."

"And then everything else?"

He nods. "Then everything else."

The silence that sits between us over the next few minutes is calmer now, more companionable, and I feel a familiar wave of calm wash over me, emanating from Arkarian's hands. I breathe deeply, taking in the comforting smell of parchment and that certain freshness I associate so strongly with Athens. There's no pollution here, and the quality of air is so good I've only ever experienced it before in the middle of the woods, miles away from the nearest car.

"We should go," Arkarian says after a short while. He rises and offers me his hand as I stand up, ever the gentleman. "Don't forget that scroll," he reminds me, nodding towards it. I grab it with my free hand and take one last look at it as I roll it up against my side.

"What do all the different colours mean?"

"Gold is for known Guard members, red symbolises known Order members."

"And the silver ones near the top?"

"Magicians."

"_Magicians? _I thought Keziah was the only one?"

"He is now. Or at least, he's the only mortal one."

Since the final battle, Lathenia's pet magician has disappeared. His life was only lengthened thanks to Lathenia's powers, and now that she's gone Keziah has presumably gone into hiding to rot away slowly, too weak to sustain himself. Keziah isn't ageless like Arkarian and I are, he was already practically a walking corpse before Lathenia's death. I don't even want to think what he must look like now.

"So what happened to the others?" I ask, pushing the scroll back on to the shelf closest to the door.

"I'm not entirely sure," Arkarian admits. "I was never told much about them, and they were all gone long before I was even born. I've only heard that they were very dangerous and destroyed each other for power. But I do know that if you go through these scrolls you will find magicians in the family tree of almost every Guard member."

"Really?"

"Magic is all but gone from this world, the last of it runs in the bloodlines of Guard members. It's the source of our powers, distilled over generations. Not every Guard member has magic in their blood, of course, it still pops up in random places from time to time, but most of us do."

"If they all killed each other, how come they all managed to have families that are still around today?" I ask, leaning back against the cool stone wall by the door.

"They didn't all kill each other. I mean, they did kill each other, but only as much as members of the Guard and the Order kill each other. Their children just stopped being born with the ability to wield magic. The magic dampened down over generations and began to take the form of specialised gifts, like what we have today."

Arkarian's information surprises me. I've never given much thought as to where my powers come from.. I guess it makes sense though - Shaun and Ethan are both Named, and Sera had powers too, Neriah was Marduke's daughter, and Matt and I are both gifted, one more than the other.

"Hey, Arkarian?"

"Yes?"

"You'd tell me if my mom was secretly a Guard member, right?"

Arkarian laughs and gives me a warm smile. "I think your mother being a Guard member would make things significantly easier for everyone, Isabel. Unfortunately, she is very much an ordinary person."

"What about my grandparents?"

"Not that I know of, but-"

"My great-grandparents?"

"I'm-"

"My great-great grandparents?"

"Why don't we just see if your family tree is in here after all?" Arkarian sighs. "I don't know every single Guard member's name now, let alone one hundred years ago."

I grin and take off down the aisles, heading to the back of the room, towards where the Bs must be. I pull a few scrolls out along the way to orientate myself, going past a couple of Chands, a few Butlers and a mountain of Browns before-

"Found it!" I call out, unfurling the scroll as quickly as I can.

Arkarian appears from behind me and helps me unravel the scroll, smoothing it out on a nearby bench and weighing the corners down with heavy candles.

"This is so cool," I breathe. My family tree is alive with colour - golds and reds running right across the page - but what really takes my breath away is the sheer volume of silver at the top. Almost every other name written there is either gold or silver, shining out at me from generations past.

"Well, now we know why Dartemis chose your mother to have Matt," Arkarian says, taking it all in.

"I wonder if your scroll would look like this," I wonder aloud. He smiles gently at me, sliding one arm around me as he taps on my great-grandmother's name, which is written proudly in gold.

"Alice Connor. I recognise that name," he says.

"You do?!"

"I never met her, but I heard about her powers. She was able to turn completely invisible, a very rare gift on it's own, but she could also walk through any physical object to a certain thickness. She was the most successful Guard member of her time." My jaw drops. I've only ever seen pictures of Granny Alice, my mom's maternal grandmother, and in most of those she's already old and small. She died before I was born, but my gran used to say that I look just like her. Apparently I take after her in more ways than one.

"Do you recognise anyone else?" I ask eagerly, scanning the page.

He nods. "Some here and there. I knew your great-great-grandfather very well, he was trained by one of my former apprentices."

I look for who Arkarian means, but it takes me a moment to find him. I'm surprised to see him in my father's line. Half of me expects me to see my dad's name in red, surrounded by other blooms of scarlet, but its written neatly and unremarkably in black, the same as my mom's. There are less colours on his side of the page overall, but they're still very present. To my shock, there are just as many golds as there are reds.

"People can really go either way, huh?"

"Sometimes it's simply a matter of who gets to them first. There's light and dark in everyone, and people are far too easily twisted one way or another."

I nod, taking in the aspects of my family tree that I hadn't noticed before. Guard members giving birth to Order members, sometimes marrying each other, sometimes having children with the opposite side. The very top of the scroll is a mess now that I look closer, barely any names in black, but impossible to predict what the next generation will bring.

"I can't imagine ever wanting anything to do with the Order," I say solemnly.

"I can," Arkarian replies. "I have debriefed enough former members to know that by and large they make good on their promises. I've seen people born with nothing being allowed to manipulate time so that they were born millionaires instead. Those who were most faithful to Lathenia were given everything they could ever dream of. Those who were a disappointment had the farthest to fall. It was how she kept everyone in line."

"But what the Order was doing was so _wrong_. How can anyone agree with that? People dying just so they have more money or power?"

Arkarian smiles at me again, eyes full of adoration. It makes me blush.

"That's why you're such a good person," he says, kissing me. He slides his other arm around my waist and holds me close for a few sweet moments, before pulling away and stroking my cheek with one hand. "Is your curiosity suitably sated?"

I raise one eyebrow and stare at him, a smirk pulling at the corner of my lips.

He laughs again and shakes his head. "Of course. A silly question."

"One of your silliest," I tease. "If you are referring to my burning desire to see all the information the Guard has ever collected on me, then no. But I can hold off on seeing the rest a little while longer."

"Most of the reports I have written up on your missions were deemed inadmissible," Arkarian says. "Too many hearts doodled in the corners."

"I knew it."

Together we reroll and shelve my scroll, before heading back out into the administration corridors. The rest of the day passes too slowly for my liking. I can barely focus on the horse ride Arkarian insists we take across the grounds, and once nearly smack my head straight into a tree branch. Finally, it's time for dinner in Queen Brystianne's chambers.

I've only been in Queen Brystianne's chambers once before, when Ethan and I begged her to help with Arkarian's rescue from the Underworld after he was kidnapped by Marduke. She was one of the only Tribunal members who would even entertain speaking with us, and was later persuaded to help by Lady Arabella. Apparently she still has a soft spot where Arkarian is concerned, an idea that leaves a bad taste in my mouth.

"Isabel…" Arkarian warns from beside me, fist still raised in the air to knock at Queen Brystianne's door.

"Sorry, didn't think you would hear that," I whisper, screening my thoughts quickly.

"I wouldn't have been able to if I wasn't trying to listen," he replies cooly. "Queen Brystianne is a far better Truthseer than I am, she will be able to hear you much more clearly. And you have absolutely no need to be jealous."

"I'm not jealous!" I argue.

Arkarian pointedly ignores me and raps three times on the carved oak door in front of us. The door is promptly opened by one of Queen Brystianne's attendants, a local girl by the look of her with warm hazel eyes. She bows and ushers us inside, leading us through an opulent reception room into a small dining area set off to the side.

Queen Brystianne is already seated alone at the head of the table, looking as spectacular as usual with hair elegantly plaited down her back and golden jewellery draped across her neck and wrists. A tiara sits neatly atop her head, diamonds glittering in the candlelight. She smiles as we enter and stands up.

"Thank you both for coming," she says. "Isabel, Glykera has prepared us both a wonderful roast lamb."

I nod at the attendant who showed us in, presumably Glykera. She bows and leaves the room, returning a moment later with a jug of wine and a short man with curly brown hair. The man seats us at the table on either side of Queen Brystianne, and removes the lids off of plates that are already set out in front of us. There's more food here than the three of us could manage to eat in a week, and it all looks delicious. Glykera skirts around us, filling our goblets with a dark red wine, before standing to attention next to the curly-haired man at the doorway.

"Thank you Glykera and Lycus, if you could please leave us now."

Without a moment's hesitation, the two attendants bow again and leave the room, closing the door behind them. Queen Brystianne leans across the table and begins to take servings from the plates of food dotted around. Between the two of us is a plate of neatly portioned lamb, which smells heavenly and makes my mouth water just by looking at it. I go to take a slice at the same time as Queen Brystianne, our forks clashing in mid-air.

"Oh, I'm so sorry Isabel! Here…" she says graciously. She uses her own fork to pile the meat onto my plate, shooting me a dazzling smile as she does so. Urgh. I can't imagine being so polite and diplomatic all the time. Fake smiles make my face ache.

"Thank you," I say, trying my best to match her smile in return. I barely last ten seconds before a twinge creeps across my lower jaw.

Arkarian is happily helping himself to a pile of chickpeas, but apparently doesn't miss my forced expression as I feel his foot tap on the side of my leg. I don't know if its a gentle reprimand or a reassurance. I've been holding the smile for too long, I realise, and it looks _very _insincere.

"Forgive me, my lady. I can't focus on this lovely food without knowing what you meant earlier when you said that the Tribunal don't trust my brother," I say, trying to keep my tone even and light. I don't see the point in making a show of pleasantries and small talk.

Queen Brystianne frowns and takes a sip of her wine. "I wouldn't say that the Tribunal don't trust Lord Matthew, Isabel."

"And neither did you," Arkarian interjects. Another tap at my leg, this time with a dose of calming energy spreading through me. "Brystianne, Isabel is very worried about Lord Matthew, as are we all. If the Guard is to pull through this difficult time than we must all stand united. To hear that there is any discord at all amongst the Tribunal is distressing, to say the least."

I'm grateful for Arkarian's words. He always knows just how to say things in a way that comes across as understanding and kind, as opposed to me just blurting things out and coming across more bluntly than I mean to.

Queen Brystianne sighs and deftly twirls her fork around her fingers as she thinks of what to say next. She stares at me long and hard, considering her words carefully before she next speaks.

"Lord Matthew has not done himself many favours since taking up Lorian's mantle," she says finally. I open my mouth to argue but she delicately holds one hand up to silence me. "Please let me finish, Isabel. I mean no disrespect when I say this. Anybody in his situation would have a monumental task on their hands, and we can all empathise with that. Every remaining member of the Tribunal is having to lead not only our own houses through the aftermath of the final battle, but the members of the orphaned houses too. On top of everything we are seeing a dramatic influx of former Order members, all of whom are required to be thoroughly debriefed. We have minimal equipment to communicate with our members. We are grieving the loss of our leader and our colleagues, and our members, and our friends. There are demons loose in the world that must be captured and killed. There are ordinary people whose memories have to be wiped because of what they witnessed, and only four Guard members worldwide who are capable of doing this. The Citadel is apparently due to be rebuilt as a temple but nobody living understands how it was built in the first place and the best we can do is throw up a few temporary holding rooms and hope that they will stay standing. Isabel, the Tribunal is at breaking point. We are tired, and we are losing our tempers with each other, and we are falling apart from within. As Arkarian said, we need to stand together at this point more than ever, and we are failing to do so."

"No offence, Queen Brystianne, but I fail to see how any of that is Matt's fault. He barely knows you, how is he supposed to bring you all together?" I retort.

"That is exactly the problem, Isabel," Queen Brystianne replies calmly. "Lord Matthew does not know us. He has been taught about how we work, yes. And I daresay he knows a fair amount about our backgrounds and personal lives, more than any other outsider would. Yes, I do mean it when I say outsider, Isabel, please do not look so agitated. Matt is an outsider."

The sudden dropping of Matt's title jumps out at me as I absorb Queen Brystianne's words. She doesn't say anything with a hint of dislike or distaste. It reminds me of Arkarian's assessments - to the point and brutally honest. I have no doubt that Queen Brystianne means everything she is saying.

"King Richard has only been on the Tribunal for a few months in my time. Does that make him an outsider too, my lady?"

"King Richard has been trained intensively since his arrival, he has taken to his new role exceptionally well," Queen Brystianne replies before delicately biting down on a mouthful of lamb. We sit in silence as she chews thoughtfully and then swallows before continuing. "King Richard has also integrated himself in a way that Matt has made no attempt to mimic. We know King Richard well. We _like _him."

"But you don't like Matt."

Queen Brystianne sighs and looks over at Arkarian, who is sat stony-faced to her left. "Arkarian, tell me, what do you think of Matt?" Her question takes me by surprise, but apparently doesn't phase Arkarian.

"I think he is trying very hard," Arkarian replies evenly. "In all aspects of his life."

"And do you think him successful?" Queen Brystianne asks, taking another sip of wine.

"That would depend on what he is trying hard at."

Queen Brystianne gives one short, hollow laugh and shakes her head. "You always were good at avoiding the question."

"When one is a terrible liar, avoiding the question becomes a valuable skill," Arkarian counters. "If my previous answer will not suffice then let me say this instead. No, I do not especially like Matt at present - he acts too rashly and refuses to let others in. He can be incredibly insensitive. But I do admire him - he is dedicated to those he cares about, and works very hard when given a goal to aim at. And one day, I think I could like him very much."

"Do you really think that acting rashly and isolating himself are really great leadership qualities?" Queen Brystianne asks.

"I think that decisiveness and independence can be wonderful leadership qualities, yes."

"Oh, you're impossible!"

"Very few people have gone up against Matt as many times as I have, Brystianne," Arkarian reminds her. "We are categorically not friends, that much has been made clear on multiple occasions. That being said, I do trust in Matt's abilities. He may act rashly, but he always acknowledges his mistakes. If he doesn't know how to do something, he will teach himself how it works. He may not have any faith in himself, but he still lead the Named in battle regardless and has faith in us."

"As was his destiny," Queen Brystianne finishes for him. "And whilst fulfilling his destiny, Matt managed to accuse multiple people of being a traitor, including having Lady Arabella imprisoned."

"Lady Arabella was keeping Neriah's guardians in cages, whether she realised it or not!" I exclaim. "Even Lorian thought that she was guilty!"

"And yet when one of his childhood friends' actions causes another member of the Named to be separated from her nominated protector and that member of the Named then dies, his friend does not face trial." Queen Brystianne's tone is sharper now, and her words cut at me. "One of our own was suspect for keeping some birds, and one of the Named - no, not even one of the Named for heaven's sake - can cause the death of a Guard member and not even be subject to investigation!"

"So now it's the Tribunal against the Named?"

"No!" Queen Brystianne snaps, and as she does so the flames on every candle jump an inch higher. She jumps to her feet, but Arkarian is equally as quick on his and he puts one hand on her shoulder.

"Brystianne. Isabel. Enough." Remarkably he still looks quite at ease. Maybe Queen Brystianne has always had a temper, or maybe he knows that I'm pushing her buttons and I will back down if he was on the line. I have never heard him command a member of the Tribunal before though.

Queen Brystianne's eyelids flutter closed and she takes a deep, steadying breath. Slowly, she sinks back into her seat and Arkarian does the same, not taking his eyes off of her. Eventually he removes his hand from her shoulder and resumes eating, as if nothing has happened.

"What I was trying to say Isabel, is that Matt is inexperienced, his people skills are lacking, and he is keeping secrets from the Tribunal. That has bred ill-will and mistrust. We are hardly about to riot, but something has to change."

I nod, a numbness spreading through me. Everything Queen Brystianne has said sounds exactly like Matt, but his actions have been misinterpreted. Matt doesn't know the Tribunal well, that much is true, but that also means that they don't know him either.

"My brother holds things back because he doesn't want to be a burden," I say quietly. "Yeah he can be a dick, but that's only because he can't stand to see people put themselves in bad situations. Don't tell him I said this but his over-protectiveness is actually kind of endearing once you get used to it. Except where I'm concerned."

Queen Brystianne's face softens slightly and she takes another sip of her wine.

"I appreciate that, Isabel," she says. "Really, I do. But Matt's leadership cannot continue like this."

"And have any of you raised this with him?" I ask.

Her answering silence is all the confirmation that I need, and I scoff. "How do you expect anything to change unless you ask for it to? My brother is not Lorian. He's not all-knowing and wise, believe me. But if he knows what he needs to change he will do it. Just because you were scared to argue with Lorian doesn't mean you have to be the same for Matt. _I'm _scarier than Matt is."

At my last comment, both Arkarian and Queen Brystianne begin to laugh.

"I don't think the Tribunal need to be told twice, mon coeur," Arkarian chuckles, reaching over and grabbing another spoonful of lentils.

"Certainly not!" Queen Brystianne agrees, still giggling. Eventually she manages to stifle her laughter and smooths out her expression. "That still leaves the question of Dillon though."

"You said he hadn't been near the Tribunal?" Arkarian asks.

"No, and we are under instructions from Lord Matthew to let him handle it. The problem being that we don't know what 'it' is."

"You think Dillon provoked Rochelle on purpose?" I ask.

"I don't know. Snapping at someone as insecure as Rochelle was was bound to provoke a reaction, but I find it hard to believe that anyone save yourself could have predicted that she would take off like that. That would be a very convoluted way to try and put her in danger."

"Or that gives Dillon just enough plausible deniability."

"Exactly so. At the very least it deserves an investigation, but there has yet to be one."

I chew slowly on a tender piece of lamb, mulling everything over. If Dillon is raising suspicion then why is Matt keeping him from facing an investigation? Surely he must know how that would reflect on him? What is my brother playing at?

"It's weird though, having Dillon here all the time," I voice my thoughts aloud.

"He only goes when it's time for him to head back to your timeline, then he's right back here the next evening. Have either of you seen him during the day?"

Arkarian and I both shake our heads. I've barely left Arkarian's chambers since the final battle, and he hasn't been up there. The school has closed down to be rebuilt, so our paths haven't had much cause to cross unless he was to come to my house to see Matt.

"Is he here now?" Arkarian asks.

"Yes." Queen Brystianne nods and gestures over her shoulder to the wide open windows that overlook another courtyard. "He's been here for weeks, staying in the guest quarters. He takes his meals in there, and seldom leaves, except for the occasional ride into the city. Penbarin's house guards have followed him several times, but he does nothing besides wander around by himself."

Arkarian frowns. "He could be aware that he's being followed."

"Possibly. Heaven knows Dillon has had a lifetime of looking over his shoulder, I daresay he would be harder to tail than most."

"That doesn't make sense though," I say. "If Dillon didn't want to raise suspicion then he wouldn't be here in the first place. Look how much attention he's had already, even with staying out of the way. And Matt's not as stupid as he seems, he has to know this looks weird as fuck to everybody around him."

Queen Brystianne visibly winces at my swearing - it seems I've offended her old-fashioned sensibilities. I was expecting Arkarian to be the same when we first started dating, but he's always been weirdly modern in his opinions and culture. I guess he's just more widely socialised than the Tribunal are, which is really saying something about how shut-in the Tribunal are - Arkarian literally lives in a cave.

"Isabel's not wrong," Arkarian says. "Perhaps there is a bigger picture we aren't seeing yet."

Queen Brystianne smiles gently at us both. "I hope you're both right. I really do."

In an effort to life the mood, Queen Brystianne spends the rest of the evening regaling me with light-hearted stories of Arkarian's "youth", much to his embarrassment. She finishes by telling me one particularly lively story about when Arkarian was only seventy-five and attracted the attention of a local girl, who then attempted to scale the walls of the headquarters to see him again, only to be met by a very unimpressed Lorian.

"And Lorian had a terrifying presence at the best of times, if you weren't prepared. This poor girl, she could only have been perhaps sixteen and completely love sick, walks right into him! She ran all the way back home, swearing that the gods themselves had come down to scold her for her lustful ways!" Queen Brystianne chuckles.

"In my defence I had only met her a couple of times before whilst buying bread from her father, and certainly wasn't expecting her to break into the headquarters to try and declare her undying love for me," Arkarian adds, polishing off his wine.

"I haven't told her the best part yet!" Queen Brystianne exclaims. "Now of course we have a reputation amongst the locals, and her story wasn't terribly out of line with what they had already made up amongst themselves. So who shows up the next morning on the front steps but her father, poor man, goat in hand…"

"Oh no!" I cry, already able to see where her story is going.

"Oh yes. He sacrifices the goat right there on the steps and begs for our forgiveness, convinced that we were going to curse his entire family!"

"Lorian made me clean up all that blood without my powers," Arkarian says, a hint of bitterness in his voice.

"Well you had been flirting with her."

"I absolutely had not!"

I snicker and drain my glass. Arkarian catches my eye and nods towards the door, a question in his eyes. I nod and then turn to smile at Queen Brystianne.

"Thank you for inviting us to dine with you tonight, my lady."

"You're quite welcome, Isabel. I hope you know that you can consider me a friend," she replies, cocking her head to the side.

"Thank you, my lady. And thank you for bringing us both up to date on the situation with my brother," I reply.

Arkarian and I both stand up to leave and bid Queen Brystianne a good night, which she returns graciously. Glykera reappears at our side and shows us the door with another bow. Once back out in the now moonlit hall, Arkarian takes my hand in his and we walk back over to the guest quarters, where his room awaits us.

"I really thought she was going to hit me for a second there," I say to Arkarian as we walk.

"Brystianne? No, she's not that kind of person. She's infinitely more likely to storm off and sulk somewhere," Arkarian replies, unlocking his door.

Arkarian's room in Athens is the only permanent one in the guest quarters, but he never keeps many personal effects there. The only real difference to the other guest rooms is the large desk next to the fireplace, which Arkarian keeps so that he can work late into the night if he needs to. The desk is unusually neat compared to its usual state laden down with haphazard piles of scrolls and strewn with inkwells and quills, the only obvious sign that Arkarian hasn't been here for years in this timeline. Time goes so quickly here, I wonder how long the Tribunal have known Arkarian for from their perspective. If I could live in this timeline without my body violently rejecting it, I could have even longer with my friends and family before I had to leave.

Once we're back inside, we both change into night clothes and lie down in the large feather-stuffed bed. Arkarian shifts to let me lay my head on his chest, one arm wrapped around me, and we lay together in silence as I listen to the steady beating of his heart.

"Do you feel any better?" he asks eventually, his voice barely above a whisper.

I nod. "A little. I know what we need to do. Well, what _I _need to do."

"And what's that?"

"I need to find out what's going on with Dillon. If I can find that out maybe I can get Matt and the Tribunal actually talking to each other."

Arkarian doesn't react for a moment, just absent-mindedly strokes my hair. Then, he wriggles uncomfortably.

"I don't know if that's best, Isabel."

"What? Why?" I raise my head to look at him, confused. He's not looking at me, instead he's staring hard at the ceiling above us, a frown wrinkling his forehead.

"If Matt has a plan, then in my experience it's best to not interfere with immortal plans."

"This isn't just any immortal though, it's my brother. I know my brother well enough to know when he needs help, and right now he needs it bad."

Arkarian is silent for another few moments before looking down at me. "I suppose if anyone knows Matt best it would be you…"

"Right. And Kar, you know the Guard, and especially the Tribunal, better than me. Together we can help him out, I know it," I beg. I can't help Matt alone, I'd be powerless to change anything, but the Tribunal trust Arkarian like one of their own. If anyone can change their minds on my brother's actions, it would be him.

He puts a hand to the side of my face and holds it gently, rubbing his thumb up and down.

"I'll help you Isabel, of course I will. Besides, what's a little immortal rage among friends?"

"If Matt throws an immortal rage, I'll just tell mom he was yelling at me. The only thing scarier than an immortal temper tantrum is my mom telling someone off, _believe me_."

Arkarian laughs and sets his head back down, pulling me back against his chest. Not too long after, his breathing slows and I know he's fallen asleep. I squeeze my eyes shut and try to will sleep to come to me, but it won't. I can hear my heart almost as loud as Arkarian's pounding in my other ear,and my stomach is uncomfortably tense even with me curled up into a little ball.

After what feels like an age, and once Arkarian's breathing gets even deeper, I give up on my own sleep and gently ease myself out of his arms and bed. The moon outside is tucked away behind some pillowy clouds, making it darker than usual in the room, but the clouds are no match for my eyes. I shuffle over to a nearby window, hopping up onto the sill and leaning my back against the cool stone wall to look out at the outside world.

Below me is another courtyard, this one containing a beautiful marble fountain with carved dolphins at the top, jetting streams of water out from their mouths and down into a tiled pool below. On the opposite side of the courtyard are more guest rooms, a couple with glowing candlelight emanating from within, but most are shrouded in darkness. Beyond those apartments, Athens flickers in the distance, warmly lit by hundreds of candles, competing with the cooler glow of the stars above. It's almost completely silent apart from the steady trickle of water from below and Arkarian's deep breathing.

I look back over at him and see he's shifted in his sleep, turned to face me now. I study his pale face for a few moments, taking in every hair, every wrinkle that forms between furrowed brows, every eyelash, and every pore. He's perfect. His expression betrays the troubled dream he must be having, but there's nothing I can do to help. Story of my life. My stomach twists again and I turn back to the world beyond my perch on the windowsill.

Two servants are making their way over to the opposite guest rooms, one carrying a serving tray laden with bread, cheese and meats, the other struggling with a bundle of sheets. I recognise the servant with the tray as Glykera, Queen Brystianne's servant from earlier in the evening. She seems to be talking animatedly with the woman carrying sheets beside her, another local I presume. I can't imagine what it must be like to be them, to think that they are serving the closest things to their gods on this earth. I don't know if they have powers themselves like the House Guards do, I've never thought to ask. Normality seems a million worlds away from me right now, and I find myself envying the two women, chatting happily and going about their daily lives seemingly without a care in the world.

Glykera and the other servant slip through a door opposite and disappear from view, leaving me completely alone with my thoughts. I stare blankly ahead, trying to mentally sort through the events of the past few weeks. _First one thing,_ I remind myself, _and then everything else_. The Guard needs to stay strong and united above all else, so I need to get the other Tribunal members to trust Matt. To get them to trust Matt, I need to find out what he's playing at keeping secrets from everyone, and work out how to get everyone working together on it. Then, when I wake up, I'm going to see how I can help bring Ethan back from the depths of his depression. Then, help Arkarian cope with his own grief. Then, try and save my own life. Then… fix everything else, I guess?

I bury my head in my hands and try to block out all the light, which suddenly seems brighter and more headache-inducing than before. When I raise my head and look back outside, I see one of the windows opposite and below me is now illuminated by candlelight. I watch the window with mild interest for a while, relieved to have something else to pre-occupy my thoughts. From my vantage point I can only see the corner of a wooden bedside table and a few tiles of smooth stone flooring. The table has the same tray of food I saw Glykera carrying earlier resting on top of it, and every now and then a hand briefly appears and takes a hunk of bread or a slice of cheese. Bit by bit, all of the food disappears down the invisible diner's throat and my interest in the window begins to wane. I'm about to look away when a pair of feet come into view, along with the bottom of a greyish-blue tunic. The figure picks up the tray and carries it away, before heading back over to the window. The figure - a young man, I realise, leans forward onto the windowsill and takes a bite of an apple. I can't see his face, but I recognise his blonde, artfully-disheveled-but-it-was-made-to-look-that-way-and-in-no-way-looks-like-that-when-he-actually-wakes-up hair. It's Dillon.

My breath catches in my throat and I try to slip off the windowsill slowly and silently, trying not to attract Dillon's attention. Now's my chance to talk to him! I grab my shoes from beside the bed, and rush back over to the window to count the windows to Dillon's room. Apparently I've not been as quiet as I hoped, because when I stick my head back out of the window Dillon is staring straight at me. Our eyes lock and I freeze in place, heart hammering in my chest. He raises his eyebrows and then raises one hand to give me a slow, awkward wave, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

We hold each other's gaze for what seems like an eternity. Dillon seems completely unruffled, leaning casually against the side of the window, arms crossed and still smirking up at me, daring me to come and confront him. It feels like electricity is running through me, and everything in my body is screaming at me to go and talk to him - my sixth sense, I realise.

Suddenly everything is thrown into sharp relief. This is how I'm going to fix everything - I'm going to let my sixth sense guide me. It's never steered me wrong before. I breathe out slowly and try to let go of all my anxieties that have been coursing through me these past few weeks. _Don't fight it_, I tell myself. _Your instincts are telling you to go to Dillon for a reason_. _He can help_. Taking another deep breath, I surrender myself over to fate, and before I know it my feet are taking me out of the door and through the marble corridors.

I don't know how I find Dillon's door but I do, and I'm not at all surprised to see it standing open when I get there. I step through into his room, a nondescript guest room like all the others, and find him settled in a chair facing me, his apple nearly at the core.

"I'm surprised," he says, examining the core as if it's the most interesting thing he's ever seen. "I thought it would be Arkarian to come and find me."

"What do you want with Arkarian?" I ask. The voice that comes out of me is flat and toneless, giving nothing away about the nerves that are currently racking my body.

"Nothing. I just assumed that he would be the one to step up and take charge whilst Matt flounders. Could you close the door please, Isabel?"

I kick the door shut behind me, not daring to turn my back to Dillon. "Arkarian isn't our leader. Matt is."

"He's _your _leader, you mean. I'm not one of the Named," Dillon replies as he pushes a chair over in my direction with his foot. He throws the apple core onto the platter that rests on a desk beside him.

"You're a Guard member. Matt is head of the Guard now," I say, taking the offered seat.

"Why?"

I balk, caught off-guard by the question. "What do you mean 'why'? Because Lorian's dead."

"So?"

"So the Guard needed a new leader."

"And why did it have to be Matt?"

"B-because he's an immortal and-"

"And why does the leader of the Guard need to be an immortal?" He leans forward as he asks this question, hands clasped under his chin. His expression is unreadable now, his knowing smirk from earlier gone without a trace.

"I don't know," I confess.

"There's a lot that you don't know. You should pay more attention, Isabel."

Dillon leans back again in his seat, throwing his knitted hands behind his head and stretching his legs out in front of him. For the first time, I realise how dark it is in the room, only one small candle near the window throwing our shadows up against the opposite wall. I'm closer to the wall than Dillon is, so his shadow looks to be twice the size of mine.

"You've had quite the day since you arrived," Dillon remarks.

"I suppose you want me to ask how you know that?"

"Not really. Just trying to be friendly," he says, the smirk making an unpleasant reappearance. "You spent a lot of time in the administration block. Learn anything interesting or were you and Arkarian just having a quickie?"

"What do you want, Dillon?" I cut across, doing my best to ignore his attempts at provoking me.

"Me? You were the one who came knocking on my door in the middle of the night. I'm flattered, really, but I think I could do better than a scrawny baby who lives in her big brother's shadow."

I scoff and shoot Dillon my most withering look. "You know what I mean Dillon. What are you doing hiding out here?"

"Hiding? I'm not hiding," he says with a short bark of laughter, raising his eyebrows. "Literally everyone in the headquarters knows exactly where I am at all times. They even have their spies bring me my food and follow me around when I take a walk."

"Then why all the secrecy around you being here?"

"You're asking the wrong person about why they're keeping secrets."

"Fuck you," I spit back, barely containing my anger. I'm dangerously close to snapping, and it's clear that I'm not going to get any straight answers here.

Dillon laughs, pleased to have gotten a rise out of me. What kind of game is he even trying to play?

"_Believe m_e, Isabel, I'm not your enemy. In fact, I could be the strongest ally you have."

"Ally for what?"

"For fixing everything."

My heart stills in my chest at his words.

"How?" I ask quietly.

"The more you know about the past, the better prepared you are for the future," Dillon replies simply.

"I've heard that before."

"It's a very relevant quote. Here's another," Dillon says, reaching into his pocket. He withdraws from it a folded slip of paper and hands it over to me. I take it without looking at the contents, and slip it into my own pocket. "You should go back to bed, Isabel. You have everything you need to get off to a strong start, I think."

I nod, feeling slightly numb as I rise from my seat. I don't say a word as I leave Dillon's room and close the door again behind me, and he doesn't say anything else to me as I go. Outside in the cool night air, I can practically feel the paper burning a hole in my pocket. I stop by an open window and smooth the paper out onto the ledge, eager to read its contents..

In cramped handwriting there is a single quote scrawled in the middle of the page:

_Whoever wishes to foresee the future must consult the past; for human events ever resemble those of preceding times. This arises from the fact that they are produced by men who ever have been, and ever shall be, animated by the same passions, and thus they necessarily have the same results. - Machiavelli_


	4. Four - Ethan

**Four - Ethan**

I'm having another nightmare. This one is a repeat of one I had a couple of nights ago, but it doesn't make me any less tense as I take off into the woods after a retreating Rochelle. _Please, _I think to myself as I hurdle over fallen tree branches and roots, _even if it's not real, please let me save her this time_.

I finally arrive in the clearing where the real Rochelle died, but this time dream-Rochelle is stood in the centre, happy and mercifully alive. She smiles at me and opens her arms wide, spinning once on the spot. Sunlight warms her face and makes her eyes look like stars shining out at me, and for a few sweet moments I forget what comes next.

Dream-Rochelle reaches one hand out towards me and pulls me in close. I swear I can smell her, honey and vanilla invading my senses. The world spins - no, we're both spinning in place now, locked in a tight embrace with dream-Rochelle smiling up at me. Was she really this short? I only ever got close enough to her once to really assess her height, but I swear she wasn't this small. Now she's around Isabel's diminutive height. Then suddenly she's even shorter, shrinking away from my embrace. She keeps smiling all the way to the ground, until she's almost the size of my thumb and I can't make out her facial features anymore. I reach down to scoop her up but too fast she disappears and my hand grabs at empty air.

I suck a deep breath in and draw myself upright again, already keenly aware of the other-Rochelle standing behind me. She wheezes, her stiff fingertips brushing at the back of my neck. I swallow hard and turn to face her.

This version of Rochelle is a shambling corpse, reaching out with rotten arms trying to grab at me. She wheezes again, foul, stale air forced out between blackened lips. Her eyes, moments ago shining and joyful, are now cloudy and the dirty yellowish white of sour milk. Other-Rochelle croaks now as her hands grip my upper arms tightly and she leans closer to me.

"You… didn't… save… me…"

"I tried," I whisper. "Please believe me. I tried so fucking hard. I'd do anything to have you back."

Other-Rochelle doesn't answer me, she just moves her hands up to the side of my neck and awkwardly strokes me there, moving her arms up and down mechanically. I screw my eyes shut tight as the pressure increases, this time totally prepared when she starts to choke the life out of me.

"Stay… with… me…" she croaks.

I try to choke back that I can't, that I have to go on living like the real Rochelle wanted, but her grip is too tight. Instead I flail weakly, trying to push her hands away from me but other-Rochelle is too strong.

"E...than…"

I'm fighting a losing battle. My head starts to spin.

"Ethan…"

Her voice is clearer now, as strong as her grip, and more… masculine?

"Ethan!"

I awake with a start, relieved to be pulled out of my nightmare. Through bleary eyes I see my dad's outline haloed against the dim light creeping in through my bedroom curtains. Slowly, he comes into focus, expression grim as ever and a deep frown marring his forehead.

"You were having another nightmare," he says flatly as he stands up straight.

"Yeah. I know," I reply, not bothering to sit upright. Today is not a good day for getting up, I decide. Tomorrow doesn't look too good either.

"Do you want to tell me about it?"

"No thank you."

Dad sighs and runs a hand through his hair. "Ethan…"

"Dad."

My monotone and lack of eye contact clearly pisses him off, because he scoffs and marches over to my window, violently throwing the curtains open and letting the harsh daylight spill into the room. I groan and scramble to pull my sheets over my head, desperately seeking out what little shelter they can offer me. Of course, my dad is quicker, darting across the room faster than the human eye can follow and yanking the sheets off of me with a flourish. I grab my pillow to cover my face but that's suddenly gone too, and my head falls briefly through an extra two inches of air and bounces against the mattress.

"I don't like you having your powers back," I groan, screwing up my eyes and holding my hand up in front of my face as a sun shield. "I'm going to ask Arkarian to take them away again. He owes me a favour or three."

"I wish you would," Dad replies, folding my duvet under his arm. "You seeing Arkarian would mean you were finally out of the house. You can't stay in here forever, Ethan, you need to get outside and get some fresh air."

I mutter something darkly under my breath about the pot calling the kettle black, but Dad hears and this time he really loses his temper.

"Goddammit Ethan!" he half-yells, probably more for the benefit of the neighbours than for me. "That is exactly why I want you to get out of the house!"

"My smart mouth?" I ask, finally pulling myself upright and attempting to reclaim my duvet. Before I can even make it to the end of my bed, my dad is already back over by the window, my bed linen still safely stowed out of my grasp under his arm.

"Okay, that's one of the reasons," he replies, visibly relaxing. I'm sat at the end of the bed now, bare toes scrunching up into the carpet. If I can get just a little closer without him noticing...

My dad sighs and perches on my windowsill, using his free hand to open the window itself and let some much-needed fresh air flow in.

"Look, I'm not saying not to grieve. I'm saying that you're never going to feel any better if you stay cooped up in here all the time. Believe me, I know all about unhealthy coping mechanisms." His voice is gentler now, and I'm having a hard time meeting his gaze.

He's talking about my sister Sera, and how awfully he handled her death, going into a depressive slump that lasted a little over a decade. Looking at my dad now, no matter how angry or tired he looks, he looks a million times better now than he did on even his best days during those long years. All of this devastation between us at the hands of just one person.

Just under two years ago, Marduke decided to draw my dad out of hiding by targeting me and the people around me. Dad rejoined the Guard with his position and powers reinstated after twelve years of grieving, and fought with us in the final battle, just like the Prophecy said he would. And also just like the Prophecy said, I lost my heart to death, at the hands of the same man who killed my sister. Even in the face of the Order's defeat, Marduke still managed to destroy the lives of two generations of our family. He won't be hurting anyone now though - thanks to a protective curse placed on Rochelle, he's now a very ugly statue decorating the deepest, darkest vaults of the Guard headquarters in ancient Athens. Still, it doesn't feel like much of a victory.

I grip the edge of my mattress tightly, searching for the right thing to say. I'm finally able to meet my dad's gaze, and find myself staring into stormy blue eyes that would be identical to my own if they didn't have faint crows feet crinkling the outer corners. I wonder just how much I really take after my dad. When his depression was at its worst I used to swear that I would never end up like that - that I would never abandon the people I love to wallow in my own misery - but here I am locking myself away in my room just like he did. Matt actually had to break in here a few days ago just to check I was still alive. I started wandering downstairs and eating what little I could stomach at the table after that, trying to ignore my mom's gently probing questions.

A whole bunch of people from Angel Falls were declared missing after the final battle, fallen soldiers on both sides, and Rochelle was reported missing almost immediately by her stepmother when she didn't arrive home that evening. The official line is that a terrible storm hit suddenly over the national park, catching hikers and picnickers in it's fall-out. Bodies of the deceased have apparently been spread throughout the park for search and rescue teams to find, staged to look like tragic accidents. Rochelle won't be found though, her body is being retained by the Guard for the new temple that Matt is building on the ruins of the Citadel, and she'll be interred next to the two immortals. The highest honour, apparently. Rochelle would hate it. The police came to question Matt, Isabel, and me the day after, as we were apparently the last people Rochelle was sighted with before we met to collect our new weapons for the battle. Mom and Dad had sat with me during questioning as I lied about leaving Rochelle on the mountain as she set off for a short hike, mom gripping my hand tightly the whole time. I think she recognises the signs of grief in me, and is just as scared as I am that I'll end up like my Dad.

"Dad…" I begin, but Dad holds his hand up to stop me before I can say anything else.

"I think about Sera every day, Ethan. I imagine you will think about Rochelle every day too, probably for the rest of your life. But please, don't make the same mistake I did - don't forget about the very much alive people who love and miss you. Your mom can't lose you like that. _I _can't lose you like that."

His words hang heavy between us, pinning me to my seat. I cast my eyes downwards and stare at my lap, trying to think of something to say.

"I just… need more time," I blurt out finally.

Dad shakes his head with a small, sad smile. "No you don't. There will never be enough time in the world to come to terms with losing Rochelle. Now put some clothes on, I want to show you something at the shop."

"Tomorrow. Tomorrow, I promise," I say.

"No, today. If we say tomorrow now we'll be saying tomorrow tomorrow too. Mick has the day off today and I don't want to close for an hour for lunch."

"Dad…"

"This isn't up for debate," Dad cuts in. "You're not going back to bed. You're getting dressed and working at the shop."

"No, I'm not," I snap back, anger bubbling up through my chest. Why can't everyone just leave me alone? Why doesn't anyone understand?

"Ethan, look, I know how you feel-"

"NO YOU DON'T!" I finally explode, springing up from the bed. "WHEN SERA DIED YOU STILL HAD MOM! YOU STILL HAD ANOTHER KID! THERE WILL NEVER BE ANOTHER ROCHELLE! YOU DON'T GET A SECOND SOULMATE!"

My eyes sting and vision blurs as tears stream down my face. Dad stands stock-still and stony-faced, the only indication that he even noticed my outburst is his tight grip on my bed linen now looks even tighter, his knuckles whitening. We stare at each other for a long time, both making a concerted effort to ignore that I'm still crying like a little baby.

"Get dressed," Dad says finally in a low, quiet voice. "You're coming to the shop."

"No." With that, I lunge forward in an attempt to seize my pillow. I'm still too slow however, and Dad spins in place and unceremoniously throws my pillow and sheets out of the window and into our backyard.

"That wasn't a request, Ethan," Dad says, walking calmly past me and out through my bedroom door, leaving it wide open as he goes.

I wipe away the tears steadily trickling down my face, and grab a fresh t-shirt from my wardrobe and a pair of jeans from my chest of drawers. I shouldn't be fighting with my dad. He's just trying to help and none of this is his fault. My emotions over the past few weeks have been all over the place, and don't show any sign of improvement. One minute I'm sobbing into my pillow, the next I'm so angry I'm breaking everything that I can get my hands on - my bedroom bin is overflowing with broken pieces of alarm clock and torn-up pieces of school notebooks. Begrudgingly, I pull on my clothes and head downstairs to rescue my defenestrated bed linen.

Dad is in the kitchen when I get downstairs, but he ignores me and continues pouring his morning coffee as I high-tail it through the back door into the backyard. My pillow has managed to land slap-bang in the middle of a flower bed near the pond, so it's covered in soil and one fat green caterpillar is already making its way across the corner when I retrieve it. I gently pluck the caterpillar from its place and let it wiggle across my hand whilst I try and shake the pillow clean with my free hand.

My sheets have luckily landed on the patio, so they aren't nearly as dirty as my poor pillow, but they're still going to need a wash. I fold them awkwardly before resting them on the garden table, then try and find a suitable home for my plump green friend who is currently eagerly making his way up my forearm. In the far corner of the garden, a particularly juicy looking fan palm sways gently in the breeze, an inviting new home for the caterpillar.

"Here you go," I say quietly, plucking the bug from my arm and gently placing him on a long, narrow leaf. "Much tastier than a dry old pillowcase."

The caterpillar wiggles his way across the leaf, and I like to believe for a second that he's trying to do a funny little dance of thanks.

"You're welcome," I tell him, and give him a small wave goodbye as I head back over to my bed linen and the back door.

When I get inside, I quickly duck into the utility room and load up the washing machine with my bed linen, leaving the pillow resting on top for me to fetch later. As I leave the room and head back into the kitchen, my Dad is placing two slices of french toast on the table for me.

"Eat your brekkie," he says, turning back to the frying pan to make his own. I sit down at the table obediently, sensing that his words weren't a request. My appetite has been pretty much non-existent lately, and I can only force down food when absolutely necessary, like under my mom's pleading gaze.

I take small, reluctant bites of my toast whilst Dad potters around finishing his own breakfast. He doesn't look at me when he sits down opposite me, instead focusing on the news he's reading on his phone and shovelling forkfuls of eggy bread into his mouth as quickly as he can. We're late, I realise. We spent too much time arguing upstairs. Just as I wonder if he's going to talk to me for the rest of the day he flicks his gaze up at me.

"Do you still have your overalls?" he asks.

"Uhh… yeah, I think so. They should be under the stairs?"

"Good. Remember to grab them before we go." With that, he stands up and sets his plate and now-empty mug in the sink.

_Well at least he's speaking to me,_ I think to myself as I go and fetch the navy blue overalls that serve as a uniform for dad's workshop. _Even if it's not much beyond bossing me around._

Dad reappears in the hallway just as I'm putting my shoes on. He wordlessly grabs his car keys and heads outside, leaving the front door open behind him for me. I grab my own keys and wallet and go to leave before I remember my phone is still upstairs. I hesitate, one foot out of the door, one foot in. There's not much point in getting it, I guess. It's been set to silent for three weeks and I have around 80 unread texts, 50 of them from Isabel alone. I don't think I'm ready to start looking through them. I don't even really feel ready to leave the house.

I sigh and close the door, locking it behind me, and climb into dad's car which already has the engine running. The radio is blaring with the local rock station, which reminds me of being really little when dad used to drive mom, Sera and me up to Coopracambra for camping. One of my earliest memories is of Sera trying to teach me 'I Spy' before I even knew the alphabet properly. That was in an old car, a big silver one with lots of seats in it. I never really thought about it but I guess mom and dad were maybe planning on having another kid or two to fill up those two empty seats at the back. In the end, they got rid of the big silver car only six months after Sera died and I became an only child.

"Seatbelt," dad says as he buckles his own.

"Dad?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm sorry."

Dad turns to look at me, a small, sad smile on his face. "I know, son. It's ok."

We both remain silent for the next ten minutes, but now it feels markedly less tense than before. An annoying radio host blathers away whilst we drive, talking about some festival that has been cancelled because of the weird weather as if it's the worst tragedy in the world. The way he whines makes me seriously think that if he knew about the demons running rampant across the country causing all the weird stuff, he wouldn't care and would still want the festival to go ahead. Finally, the host stops complaining and starts the music back up again.

"Hey," dad says, smiling again. "Do you recognise this song?"

"Yeah, of course," I scoff. "It's 'Bohemian Rhapsody'. Everybody knows this song - and that's not an exaggeration."

"It was Sera's favourite."

"Oh. I don't remember that," I reply quietly.

"Really? You don't remember when you were about three and the two of you used to shout 'Galileo' at the top of your lungs back and forth?"

I shake my head dumbly. I wish I had better memories of Sera but they're all pretty hazy. I don't remember anything about Bohemian Rhapsody.

"Well I remember it like it was yesterday," dad continues, eyes still firmly fixed on the road. "My hearing has never been quite the same since."

Despite myself I laugh, probably for the first time since Rochelle died. The idea of Sera and I screaming our heads off about a 17th century philosopher whilst dad tries to focus on anything but our yelling is too funny.

"Maybe she heard us arguing and this is her way of telling us to cut it out," I say, turning the volume up a notch.

"I hope not, if she's been watching us that means she knows I tripped over the bedroom rug this morning with my jeans around my knees," dad replies, with a poker-straight face.

I laugh again. Privately, I agree with dad, I really hope Sera isn't watching us. She deserves a rest. More so, I hope she's with Rochelle. I hope they get along.

We pull up at dad's workshop ten minutes late, and find a very sunburnt man with an ill-fitting dress shirt already waiting outside, fanning himself with a newspaper. Dad curses under his breath when he catches sight of him, then puts on his best customer service smile and waves cheerily through the windscreen. The man's tomato red face splits into a grin and he gives an enthusiastic wave back, making a beeline straight for the car.

"Mr Gardener!" dad exclaims as he parks up. "So sorry about the delay in opening this morning, had some issues getting my son out of bed! You know how teenagers can be!"

I'm about to argue when I remember where I've heard Mr Gardener's name before. He's one of my dad's most regular customers, some wealthy businessman whose bored, much younger, housewife is constantly remodelling his home. Mr Gardener is a jolly yes-man but his wife is apparently spoiled and bratty, and prone to calling my dad's shop to yell at him when there's even the slightest delay on their orders. One of the pitfalls of being the best carpenter in the area is attracting the most demanding clientele. To save my dad a nasty phone call later, I decide to keep my mouth shut and play up the moody teenager angle.

"No worries, Shaun, no worries at all!" Mr Gardener says cheerfully. His phone starts ringing in his front shirt pocket, and the illuminated screen shines through the thin fabric, showing a picture of a peroxide blonde woman with wonky lip injections holding up a pomeranian and pouting. "Sorry, that'll be the Mrs," Mr Gardener says, already fishing his phone out of his pocket. "You don't mind if I-?"

"No, not at all," Dad replies with a wave of his hand. "It'll give me a chance to unlock the door and grab your chairs."

We climb out of the car together and I stand awkwardly by Dad as he fiddles with the lock to the workshop. Mr Gardener stands uncomfortably close to me whilst chatting amiably to his wife, who I can hear shouting through the other end of the phone, reassuring her that yes, Shaun is here now, and no, he hasn't seen the chairs yet, but yes, he is sure that Shaun's done a great job, he always does. Suddenly my irate glare becomes a lot easier to fake - Mrs Gardener sounds like a real harpy.

Dad's workshop is bright and airy, and smells strongly of furniture polish. When I was younger I used to be confined to the front of the shop where dad showcases all of his 'off-the-shelf' artisanal pieces, far away from the dangerous power tools he keeps at the back. I survey the workshop with satisfaction and a surprising sense of pride. There are several beautiful hand-carved end tables near the front door with intricate designs etched into the legs - I forgot how talented Dad was. He's pretty well known in the local area as the best carpenter you could hire for a project, but if he wanted he could really expand his business several times over. I know he's been scoped out by a couple of trendy celebrities for custom pieces, and had articles written about his work in a couple of industry magazines, but I think he's largely shied away from the attention, preferring to just continue to work independently. He has Mick managing the business side of things and watching the shop whilst he works, but everything you can see in his workshop is made solely by him.

"Here we are," Dad announces as he strides past me and towards the low walls that separate the workshop from the shop. In a neat row at the back are six mahogany dining chairs with a soft looking emerald green fabric for the upholstery. The legs are all carved in Dad's distinctive style, with eerily realistic looking vines winding their way up to the seats.

"Wow-ee! You've done it again, Shaun!"

"Thank you. Ethan will ring you up," Dad says, clapping me on the shoulder. "I'll bubble wrap these and put them in your van?"

"It should be already open, but take these just in case," Mr Gardener replies, tossing my dad a set of car keys. I'm surprised, I figured a guy like this would be driving some middle-age crisis type of car, not a regular van.

I wander over to the till, skirting around various cabinets, chairs and tables as I go, with Mr Gardener trotting obediently behind me talking non-stop about how lucky I am to have such a talented father, and how lovely the weather is after those weird storms last month, and asking if I've heard anything about the school re-opening. That's the other thing I remember Dad saying about Mr Gardener - once he's in the shop, it takes forever to get him out.

Mr Gardener doesn't even bat an eyelid when I tell him the outstanding amount on his chairs, a whopping £500 a chair even with the 50% deposit already paid. He just smiles, slides his card over to me, and then comments on how nice the workshop smells.

"Uh… yeah," I say, not really sure how to reply.

"Gosh I haven't seen you since you were barely a teenager," Mr Gardener says. "You've gotten so tall!"

"Yeah?"

"You must be in your final year of school, I'm guessing?"

"Yeah."

"So sad about what happened."

"Yeah."

"You said you don't know what they're doing about reopening yet?"

"Yeah - uh, I mean, no."

"Well I hope they get you sorted for your final exams!"

"Yeah."

"Still, must be nice to be off and enjoying the sunshine."  
"Strapping lad like you, dare I say you have a pretty lady to enjoy the weather with?"

At his words, time freezes and it feels like all of the air has been sucked out of the room. I stare straight into Mr Gardener's cherry-red face, fixating on the peeling skin around his nose as he laughs, pleased to have caught me off-guard and crowing about how embarrassed I look. He doesn't realise the nerve he's just struck - how could he? - but he's sent me reeling. I feel physically sick and I grip the edge of the counter as anxiety washes over me in waves.

"Mr Gardener!" I follow the direction of my dad's voice, relieved to hear him coming to my rescue. Dad is stood in the doorway, his face a mask of joviality, but he shoots me a look that tells me that he heard everything. "Everything is all loaded," he continues. "Are we all settled up?"

"We certainly are, Shaun! We certainly are! Just having a chat with young Ethan here!" He gives me a conspiratorial wink at the word 'chat' and I have to resist the urge to bolt.

"Excellent! Well, sorry to kick you out but I've got a custom piece to work on so I'm going to have to lock up for a little while," Dad says, standing to the side whilst holding the door open, a clear signal to Mr Gardener that he should leave.

"Oh-ho-ho! How exciting!" Mr Gardener enthuses as he turns to face him, mercifully seeming to have forgotten all about me. Dad comes over and claps his hand on Mr Gardener's shoulder as he patiently guides him outside, shooting a sympathetic look back at me as he goes.

"Goodbye Ethan!" Mr Gardener calls back. "Nice speaking with you!"

Finally left alone in the shop, I feel my legs buckle underneath me. All I can think of is that if Rochelle was here, we could be out enjoying a blissful day together right now. Where would we be? What would we be doing? Would it be just the two of us, or would we be with our friends? What is everyone else even doing right now? Do they even miss me?

"Ethan? Are you ok?" It's my dad, back in the room and now stood over me as I'm bent double over the counter in an attempt to support myself whilst my legs feel like jelly.

"Yeah," I croak out. "I'm fine."

"No, you're not. But it's okay, take a seat," Dad replies, pulling a stool out from underneath the counter. I take the stool gratefully and perch on it, trying to steady myself. "You're having a panic attack. It _will _ pass."

"I don't get panic attacks," I say as I hunch back over, trying to ignore my heart, which has begun slamming itself against my ribcage.

"Well I do, and I look an awful lot like you when they hit me."

I squeeze my eyes shut and gulp in a few desperate deep breaths. Slowly, things begin to return to normal - my heart rate slows, I stop feeling like I'm spinning in place, and my mouth feels less like it's stuffed with cotton balls. When I open my eyes again, Dad has put a bottle of water in front of my folded arms.

"I don't get panic attacks," I repeat lamely as I unscrew the bottle.

"Ethan, you've been through a literal war, suffered two major - and horribly violent - losses in your life, you grew up in an unstable living environment, and now you've been confined to the house for the last three weeks. Frankly, I'm amazed you've held it together this long."

"It was Meridian."

"Meridian?"

"He gave me the gift of sanity when I was initiated into the Guard. Maybe now he's dead, the gift has gone too."

"I don't think it works like that, Ethan," Dad replies, resting his hand on my back. It's comforting, and reminds me of when I was little and Arkarian used to do the same when I was crying. "Truth be told you're still doing surprisingly well."

"I don't feel like I am," I confess. "I'm worried that I'm going to end up-"

"Like me?" Dad cuts in.

"I wasn't going to say that," I mutter. I really wasn't. I was going to say 'end up losing it'.

"You didn't have to. For what it's worth, I won't let that happen to you."

"Thanks."

"Are you ok to stand?"

I nod and push myself up from the counter. Dad motions to the workspace at the back of the room and doubles back to unlock and reopen the front door. As he walks into the room to join me, he elbows a switch on the wall and the extractor fans lining the walls roar to life. He then grabs two pairs of protective goggles and gloves from the end of the nearest workbench and tosses me one of each.

"So, what are we doing?" I ask as I secure my google in place.

"_I _am going to get started on a few more chair legs, and you are going to lacquer them. I've got a few already ready to go." He gestures over my shoulder to the pots of various paints, lacquers, and varnishes stacked on sturdy shelves to the left of the room, with paint brushes spilling from every conceivable crevice. On top of the shelving unit lie two already finished chair legs.

The chair legs are undeniably beautiful, potentially the most intricate carvings I've ever seen Dad make. They're fashioned to look like rainforest trees, with animals stalking near the base and exotic vines and flowers winding their way upwards towards where the seat will be.

"Uh… are you sure about this?" I ask as I delicately pick one of the legs up and examine it closely.

"I'm sure," Dad nods. "Just take your time, there's no rush. Loud noise coming up by the way, and you might wanna grab a mask as well."

The minute I have a mask in place, the jigsaw on one of the benches starts whirring as Dad sets about cutting up what looks like oak into equal sized pieces. I pull out a few paintbrushes and grab the pot of lacquer nearest to the chair legs, holding it up for my dad's nod of approval. Lacquering is fiddly work at the best of times, with every layer having to be applied thinly and evenly with either a motorized spray or a very steadily-held paintbrush. The legs are so intricate that I'm going to have to use a brush, which is going to take forever. Luckily for my dad's client, whoever they are, I've been helping out in the shop for years whenever Dad was short on staff as a way to earn pocket money, so I'm at least competent enough to be able to do a proper job. Although really he should ask someone like Neriah to do this, she's amazing at art and I've even seen her paint a jungle scene just like this before.

I dip my brush delicately into the lacquer and set to work, beginning with the 'tree trunk' that makes up the bulk of the leg. I use a vice to steady the wood as I work, keeping my back to Dad and his saw to try and block any potential bits of sawdust that might try and fly over and get stuck in the lacquer. The detailing is infinitely more difficult, and I have to bend so close to the wood that I'm in serious danger of getting lacquer on my mask if I waiver even slightly. I've just finished my second layer on the jaguar, narrowly avoiding an unsightly pool of lacquer in the tiny etched spots along it's back, when my dad appears at my side and mouths something at me.

"What?" I ask, then realise I have ear protectors still clamped over my head. I yank them off and try to ignore the sudden heat on my face. "Sorry - what did you say?"

"I said: 'lunchtime'."

"Already?"

"It's one o'clock, Ethan."

I glance up at the clock in surprise, and sure enough it's only a couple of minutes to the hour. I've been hunched over my work for over four hours without even realising it, which explains the shooting pain that runs down my spine as I stand up straight. I wince, and Dad notices.

"You should sit down when you're doing that, or you'll really mess up your back. I'm going to go to Jenny's and get us some food, what do you want?"

I give my dad an order for a burger and some chips drizzled with my favourite burger sauce from Jenny's - an added bonus of working in the shop. Once I'm alone I hop back over to the other half of the workshop and slowly wander round, taking it all in. I get why Dad bought me here now. When you're so wrapped up in a task it's difficult to wallow. One of the reasons I spent so much time in here growing up is that Dad was pretty much always at work, and as time went on his work became even finer and more detailed, meaning even more time had to be put into it. Throwing himself into work must be how Dad stayed sane. I don't think I'm built to be a carpenter full time, but maybe I'll find my own course to set out on in time, and I won't hurt so much.

I wander up and down aisles of cabinets and end tables, appreciating the fine craftsmanship that has gone into every piece. I spot a wardrobe almost identical to one I had when I was little, with farmyard animals smiling out at me from the gently whitewashed wood. Come to think of it, I think my childhood wardrobe was second-hand, it was Sera's first. It seems obvious now, but I'd never really thought that Dad must have made it by hand. He's making them for other people's children now.

"Hello?"

I jump at the man's voice coming from the shop doorway, not realising how lost in my own thoughts I was. I step out from behind the couple of wardrobes concealing me from view and go to greet the new customer.

"Jimmy?" I ask, dumbfounded.

Jimmy is stood at the shop entrance in a neat grey suit and clutching a heavy-looking lever-arch file in his hands. I know he's a relatively successful property developer, so I guess maybe he gets Dad to build some of the show-home furniture. He gives me a cheery smile and crosses over to the counter, dropping his file on top with a satisfying _thunk_.

"Sorry, Dad's gone out to get lunch."

"Yeah I know, I text him just before I left. He's bringing me a burger and hopefully a tank full of Jenny's special burger sauce." Jimmy leans leisurely across the counter and looks around approvingly.

"I would buy that sauce by the gallon if I could," I agree. "So what's up, Jimmy? Anything I can get started with?"

Jimmy grimaces uncharacteristically. "It's actually a social call, today. Well, I actually do have a small order, but I wanted to come down here and-"

"Fuck," I say, banging my head down on the folder.

"That is categorically not what I'm here to do," Jimmy replies. "You're a little young for me, Ethan."

I let out a small huff of laughter and look up at Jimmy. He's smiling down at me kindly and actually looks just as awkward as I feel. I always liked Jimmy, he's the personification of just an all-round great guy - he's looked after Matt and Isabel for years as a long-term friend of their mom's, and then eventually her boyfriend, and he's been pretty good friends with my dad for at least a decade that I can remember, friends with Arkarian for even longer.

"I've been debating whether or not to speak to you for a little while," Jimmy says, pulling up a nearby chair. The chair is comically lower than the counter, so when he sits down on it Jimmy can only just rest his chin on the top.

"Would you like a stool instead?" I offer.

"Ah, yeah, that would probably be a better idea."

Jimmy switches seats quickly, and when he's at more of an equal height he rests his forearms on the desk and sighs. He looks sad and tired in a way I've never seen him look before.

"Jimmy, I'm going to be ok, really. It's just going to be a long process."

"I know you're going to be ok, kid. That's not what this chat is about."

"Then what is it?"

"Ethan, what I'm about to tell you, I'd appreciate it if you didn't mention it to anyone else." The tone of his voice makes me sit up and pay attention - its heavy and filled with a sorrow that I've recently heard in my own voice.

"Yeah, o-o-of course."

"Your dad knows, and so does Arkarian. They were around when it happened, so…" he trails off, staring over my shoulder at nothing in particular. Finally, he shakes his head with another small smile tugging at his lips. "Of course, I imagine Matt knows now, too. Ethan, you're going to have a lot of people offering you their sympathy. They mean well, but they don't understand."

I stare at Jimmy for longer than is polite, but I can't look away. Is he saying what I think he's saying?

"_I _understand, though," he continues, looking me dead in the eye. "Better than anyone."

"Who was she?" I ask in a tight voice.

"Her name was Hannah. She was my wife." A single tear has already started to roll it's way down Jimmy's cheek. He catches it on a tissue he apparently had ready to go and glances away, embarrassed. "Sorry. It's been fourteen years and it's still difficult for me to talk about."

"You don't have to-"

"No, but I want to. It will be good for me, and hopefully for you too. I met Hannah through Arkarian actually, she was his apprentice and he had trained my Trainer before her, so we all knew each other pretty well." He pauses for a moment and opens his wallet, then pulls out a photograph of a pretty woman with dark hair piled on top of her head and slides it across the counter for me to look at. The woman is looking into the camera and laughing, like whoever was taking the photo was telling a funny joke. "She was beautiful, and _so _serious - she always had to have the last word in an argument and her focus was unshakeable. I was smitten from the moment we met, and to my great surprise, she was too."

Jimmy stares longingly at the photograph before tucking it back into his wallet. "We married young. Both of us were only nineteen but we couldn't imagine even looking at anyone else for the rest of our lives. And we were really happy. Then it all went wrong in a single night."

"What happened?"

"There was a mission - both of us, together. We didn't do them very often, the Guard likes to keep couples apart if possible, too easy to get distracted. But Hannah and I, we were a team, a great one, and it was a very difficult mission. But the Order knew that too, so they did something they didn't do very often."

"What?"

"They sent back up. A third soldier who we weren't looking for, dropped right in the middle with no thought as to trying to make him blend in. It was an all-out assault. And he got her." Jimmy sucks in a deep breath and holds my gaze again. "He stabbed her three times, and she crumpled to the ground like a rag doll."

"Jesus."

"I got him, for what little it's worth. Technically, the mission was a quote-unquote success and the Order failed. But I lost everything. I took her body to Arkarian, and we tried to save her but…"

"She'd crossed the bridge already," I finish for him.

For a moment, Jimmy looks shocked at my reply and I curse myself for saying anything. As far as I know, none of the other Named know that Isabel once died on a mission and I went to the middle realm in a bid to save her. Luckily Arkarian was watching us and realised he was Isabel's soulmate in the nick of time, otherwise Isabel would never have come back. From the look in Jimmy's eyes when he talks about Hannah, I can already tell that that wouldn't have been the problem for him. Hannah was his soulmate, just like Rochelle was mine.

"Yeah, she was already gone. I failed her. I wasted too much time taking out the last Order soldier.," Jimmy says, regaining his composure.

"Jimmy I'm sure that's not true. Some people just find the bridge quickly, and there's nothing anyone can do about it."

"Well anyway, the worst part was when I woke up."

My gut twists. When someone dies in the past, their body doesn't shut down right away after their soul moves on. They lie there looking to all the world like someone in a deep sleep who is just incapable of waking up, whilst their body slowly shuts down in response to its emptiness.

"She was in the hospital for four days before her heart gave out," Jimmy says bitterly. "For four days, I sat with her family at her bedside, answered their questions and pretended to hope for a miracle when I already knew she wasn't coming back."

"I'm so sorry, Jimmy."

"Me too, kid. She was too young, too full of life to be cut down like that. And so was Rochelle. The war raged for centuries, and neither of us are the first to lose people like that, even though it feels like no one else could possibly understand what it's like to have your heart torn in two."

"So how did you move on?"

"I didn't," he says simply, with a small shake of his head. "I don't want to, either. Moving on implies forgetting, and I don't ever want to forget Hannah. That would be a disservice to her memory, and the unforgettable kind of person that she was. What I learnt to do instead was honour her with my life. Every time I smile, I smile for her. Every joke is in the hope that she's sat watching me somewhere and laughing."

"But what about Coral?"

"I love Coral, make no mistake. She's a heck of a woman. But there's someone else out there waiting for her and in time she will be with her soulmate too, and I will be delighted to see one of my favourite people truly happy. When that time comes, well, I'll probably be of an age where I won't have to wait too long to see Hannah again. You will find love again, Ethan. It might not be eternal and epic, or the stuff of legend, but it will make you happy, and you'll live a good, long life surrounded by people who care about you." Jimmy offers me a clean tissue as he says this, and I realise that I'm crying now too. "In the meantime, kid, if you ever need any advice, or to talk to someone who has been right where you are…"

"Thanks, Jimmy."

"And now for the second item on my agenda…" Jimmy says, wiping his own eyes one more time and giving me a wink. "How do you feel about a mission?"


	5. Five - Neriah

**Five - Neriah**

Aysher and Silos trying to burst in through my door is what wakes me. Aysher whines pitifully at the gap at the bottom, sticking his nose right up against it in an attempt to sniff me out, whilst Silos scrambles frantically at the handle. One of these days he's going to figure out how to open doors, and then I'm really going to be in trouble.

"Okay! I'm coming!" I sigh, exasperated. "They really don't like being shut outside."

"I don't think they would have liked being in here last night," Matt replies, and I can hear his smile in his voice. He huffs and wraps his arms around my waist from behind, pulling me in a little closer and planting a kiss on the back of my head.

I giggle and snuggle further backwards, closer to Matt. Since I became immortal, I don't strictly _need _to sleep, but it's nice to do and a solid night was exactly what we needed. Wrapped in Matt's arms, curled up under my cosy duvet, the thought of going back to sleep is incredibly tempting. I'm almost about to drift off again when there's a heavy slam against the door, the unmistakable sound of Silos's impatient body jumping up against the wooden door.

"Silos!" I exclaim, hopefully loud enough for my voice to carry out into the hallway. "Get! Down!"

Silos whines in response and I shuffle around in the bed to face Matt. His eyes are still closed but he's frowning again, clearly bothered by his interrupted sleep. Even with being woken up by impatient dogs trying to break into my bedroom, he looks a lot better than he did yesterday. His hair is an adorable wreck, stuck up at odd angles like he's stuck his finger in a plug socket, and his skin has a bit more of a healthy glow to it.

"They're not going to stop until I let them in," I warn him.

"Fine," Matt sighs. "But if Aysher jumps straight onto my stomach again..."

"He won't. And he feels very bad about nearly making you throw up."

Matt opens one eye to look at me, and I give him my sweetest smile to try and make up for my needy pets. He can't keep his grumpy expression up for too long, and soon he's smiling back at me. I kiss him softly and he pulls me in even closer, so our bodies are pressed right up against each other and our legs are tangled up together.

"We could just stay in bed together a little while longer," he whispers, sending a pleasant tingle down my body.

Almost as if in response to Matt's scandalous suggestion, Aysher drags his snout along the bedroom door again and whines loudly, making us both giggle. Reluctantly we untangle ourselves and I wriggle out from the warmth to go hunting for my hastily discarded clothes from last night.

I stand in the middle of the room, spinning on the spot. I find Matt's jeans first, his underwear still inside and scrunched up together at the bottom of the bed, so I lay them over his knees. My top is draped across the chair in the corner, and my jeans are rolled up near the door along with my underwear. I throw yesterday's clothes in the hamper and pull out a new top and underwear from my chest of drawers. I spin again, but my bra is nowhere to be found.

"Matt?"

"Hmm?"

"Where's my bra?"

"Huh?"

"My bra? The thing with the triangles that I put over my breasts? What did you do with it? I didn't see where you put it."

Matt pushes himself upright, resting back on his forearms and looks bleary-eyed around the room. Immortals may have perfect memories, but we are most definitely not immune to morning brain-fog. Matt starts leaning over my side of the bed and stares confusedly at the blanket we laid out the night before for comfort (my bed creaks and I didn't exactly want to advertise to my mom what we were doing). With one hand he starts comically miming the action of taking off a bra and then tossing it off to the side, then he swings his arm down and starts fishing around under my bed.

"Got it!" he announces triumphantly, pulling it out with a flourish and handing it to me. I take it gratefully and finish getting ready.

Now fully dressed, I open the door for Aysher and Silos, who come bounding in with gusto. Their thoughts are full of unmitigated joy and mischief as they hop straight onto the bed and lick Matt's face by way of greeting. Matt groans and tries to pull the duvet over his head for protection, but the dogs are way too clever for that and promptly turn themselves into ferrets to try to burrow their way to him.

"No!" I scold them both gently, scooping one up in each hand. "Leave Matt alone! You know he doesn't like you licking his face!"

I set them both back down on the floor and the two of them obediently turn back into dogs, nuzzling my legs apologetically. Aysher and Silos are obviously different to regular dogs, and truth be told I'm not entirely sure _what_ they really are. They were given to me when I was around two years old, and they haven't shown any signs of aging or slowing down ever since. In the fifteen years that I've had them, they've been my loyal companions and, when needed, my fiercest protectors. On days like today though, they seem to be content to behave like regular attention-seeking shapeshifting dogs - still struggling to accept the fact that Matt and I might occasionally want some time _alone _without them in the room.

Downstairs, I can hear Mom banging about in the kitchen with pots and pans - never a good sign. Ever since we moved back into the house, Mom has been trying to be more independent and reclaim the life she led before, but she's horribly rusty with cooking and other household chores. For years we had household staff who also doubled as elite bodyguards, some Guard members, some just amazingly well-trained mortals, in a bid to keep me and my mom safe from my tyrannical father, an evil monster named Marduke. Now that he's dead, or at least, a really hideous statue, mom has let most of the staff go or reduced their hours, which is just as dangerous when she routinely starts pan fires like a pyromaniac video-game character.

"I'm just going to go check on my mom."

"That's probably for the best," Matt agress. "I'm already getting messages from Lord Penbarin. Apparently he's been trying to contact us. I'll see what he wants and get dressed, then I'll be down."

I head downstairs with Aysher and Silos bounding around my feet, both delighted to see me again. I give them both quick scratches behind the ears and they pull out ahead of me to go and greet my mom in the kitchen.

"Hello you two!" Mom's voice rings out. "Did you manage to drag my daughter out of bed at last?"

"They did," I confirm, walking into the kitchen.

Mom is stood over the stove, frying pan in hand. Her hair is scraped back and she's covered from head to toe in flour, with a pink floral apron wrapped around her. The kitchen island behind her is an explosion of eggshells, bags of flour, baking powder and sugar, which Aysher is eagerly licking at. I gently push him down and he turns his attention to a few rogue blueberries that have fallen on the floor.

"Look!" Mom exclaims, holding the pan dangerously close to my bare arm. "Pancakes!"

"Looks great, Mom. But what's that?" I ask, pointing to the kitchen counter and the small mountain of a blueberry-studded blancmange-like substance wobbling on one of our dinner plates.

"Attempt number one."

"Did you put the whole mix in?"  
"Well, it poured faster than I was expecting it to, and then it ballooned up and…" Mom trails off and stares sadly at the blueberry blancmange. She looks lost in thought, then suddenly starts to sniff the air. "Do you smell smoke?"

"Attempt number two!" I gasp, grabbing the frying pan and yanking it off the hob.

"Oh shoot! That one looked good as well!"

"Well, at least you didn't pour all of the batter in this time."

I grab a spatula and begin scraping the charred pancake remains into the trash whilst Mom starts whisking up some more batter. Aysher and Silos dance around her feet hoping for more spillages, and I turn the hob down to a lower temperature in a bid to save any future pancake casualties. At some point whilst we cook Mom turns on the radio, filling the empty kitchen with music. It's chart music so I don't recognise the song, which is quite normal for me after years of only hearing my mom's music of choice (80s pop from when she was my age), but it's got a good beat and I tap my foot in time with it.

"Where's Matt?" Mom asks, leaning over me to pour more batter in the pan.

"I don't really know," I reply with a frown. "He had a couple of messages this morning, but he should be finished by now."

"Well… at least that gives me an opportunity to talk to you."

"What? You can talk to me in front of Matt."

"It's sort of… about Matt," Mom says. I glance over at her and see she's standing awkwardly by my side, twisting the rings on her fingers nervously.

I turn the hob off and turn to face her, abandoning all thoughts of pancakes.

"Is everything ok, Mom?"

"Yeah, honey, it's fine. This is just awkward…"

"What's up?"

"I really like Matt. He seems like a good kid, and he's clearly smitten with you… But…"

"But?"

"Oh, honey, you and Matt aren't as quiet as you think you are."

I feel the colour drain from my face as mortification creeps through me. The idea of my mom overhearing me and Matt having sex makes me cringe more than I thought it was possible for a human being to cringe. I've never understood people saying that they wanted the ground to swallow them whole until now.

"I'm not angry!" Mom says, splaying her hands out in front of herself. "Is it weird I'm almost a little relieved?"

"Relieved?" I balk. "Mom! Yes! That's incredibly weird!"

"I didn't mean that how it came out! I just meant that - oh, Christ, Neriah I was really worried that I'd messed you up for life. But sneaking around with a boyfriend? I used to do that, _lots _of teenagers do that - it's normal. I'm trying to say that I'm relieved you finally have some normality in your life. You deserve it."

My stomach untwists a little. At least Mom isn't mad. As worried as she was about moving here and me finally going to a real school with other people my own age, I was feeling twice as anxious. None of the other kids were taught by an American ex-Navy SEAL who happened to have a Masters in Child Education. None of the other kids took mandatory self-defence classes in the evening. None of the other kids lived in constant fear of their 1000 year old fathers coming to take them away and kill their mothers. All things considered, I'm incredibly lucky to have good friends who understand every aspect of how weird my life has been up until now, and how weird it's probably going to be for the rest of it. I'm even luckier to have a boyfriend who loves me so completely and in some aspects manages to out-weird me so much that I get to feel like the normal one sometimes. Matt has been running on fumes recently, but he still finds the time to make me feel special in a good way.

"All I'm asking is for you to maybe try and wait until I'm out of the house," Mom continues.

"You're never out of the house, though."

"Or maybe keep it down a little more."

"I'm sorry," I say, staring down at my feet. Heat rushes to my face.

"That's ok. I have earbuds," Mom laughs. She scoops up the jug of batter and wiggles it in the air, motioning that we should get back to cooking.

I turn and put the hob back on, fixing my attention back to the pancakes. I'm not much better at house things than my mom, but at least I don't share the same propensity for setting the kitchen alight. We work closely together, a team who are five times more focused than a normal parent and child would have to be. Finally, we have three plates with small stacks of fluffy misshapen pancakes ready to go. I quickly cook two more with the leftover batter and put one each in Aysher and Silos's bowls, which they attack with gusto.

As if on queue, Matt appears at the kitchen door. I'm about to beckon him over when I catch sight of his tear-stained face.

"Matt? What's wrong?"

"Matt, honey?" Mom crosses the room, and puts her arm around Matt, who barely reacts. "Do you want to sit down?"

Matt nods numbly and slides into a nearby dining chair. "Isabel has had a vision." His voice sounds hollow, worse than I've ever heard it before.

Mom flicks a look at me over Matt's shoulder. She knows way more about the Guard than most ordinary people - a necessity borne out of the threat to our lives brought on by my father. We try to keep her as in the dark as possible, but when I lived for a while with the Beckets she was briefed on all of the Guard members in the house, including their various abilities and how they could help keep me safe. She knows all about Isabel's visions of the future.

"What did she see?" I ask.

"Lord Penbarin has asked that we go to Athens for a full briefing but… she saw herself. She watched herself die."

I suddenly find myself needing a seat of my own. This is all too much. We just lost Rochelle, and now Isabel's life is in danger? How is this fair?

"She… I mean… Not all of Isabel's visions come true, right?"

Matt runs a hand through his hair and stares up at the ceiling. "Yeah. Yeah, they don't always come true. You're right."

I take one of his hands in mine. "Isabel is the most savvy person I think I've ever met, Matt. She isn't going to put herself in danger."

Isabel was the first friend I made when I moved to Angel Falls. She's been a member of the Guard for over two years, and judging from the records the Guard keeps on her, she's already surpassing in ability and success rate other members who've been with us five times as long. What she lacks in physical powers she makes up for with being the best at anything she sets her mind to. She doesn't need super-strength or telekinesis to throw a man over her shoulder when she can just do it anyway with one of her multiple black-belts. I already know that she's going to be ok because she's far too stubborn to allow anything bad to happen to her without her say-so.

Despite her amazing skills, Matt is still incredibly protective of his little sister. He's only really spoken to me about it once, giving me the terrible facts like he was reading from a textbook, but I know Isabel's father used to beat him and his mom. Isabel was the only one ever spared from the abuse, and Matt has made it his life's mission to ensure that she always remains safe - a difficult task when we all fought together in a war for control of this realm. He still has difficulty grasping the concept of Isabel being fully independent.

"I need to go to Athens," Matt says, staring up at the ceiling. "I need to know what she saw, and I need to put together a plan of action."

"I'm coming with you," I say, standing back up. "If I use my brush we can get to Athens quicker." It's not an ideal plan, but it's the only one we really have at the moment. For my initiation King Richard gave me a paintbrush that would help me to open up portals to other worlds, and I can use it to open portals to other times as well. I still struggle with my ability - the portals have a nasty habit of snapping shut in a move that would rip apart ordinary mortals - but they're more stable for my personal use and inanimate objects. I wouldn't suggest sending any other living beings through, though.

"You should both eat something before you go," Mom tries, but I'm already shaking my head.

"We can be back in the blink of an eye, and I don't think either of us could stand to eat until we know what's happening."

Mom doesn't look too happy with my reply, but she understands. She's been really understanding these past few weeks of the fact that Matt and I now have a ton of new responsibilities - she just doesn't quite know the true extent of them. I think she would have a heart attack if she found out that I'm now one of the leaders of the Guard. Mom sighs and grabs one of the plates of pancakes, motioning for us to go.

I give her a small smile as Matt and I head back upstairs, and she gives me a small wave. I order Aysher and Silos to stay with her to keep her company, but I still feel guilty. Lately it feels like I'm always dashing off somewhere, and Mom only just got back into Angel Falls after retreating back to the island I grew up on. I wish I had more time to spend with her. She doesn't say anything, but I know she gets lonely.

When we're back in my room I immediately grab my special paintbrush from my bedside table. Matt sits down on my bed and puts his shoes on. He hasn't said a thing since his decision to go to Athens, and I'm worried about him. We have an unspoken rule to try and not talk about Guard stuff when we get a few moments alone together, otherwise it would consume our entire lives - it very nearly is already. I wonder if this comes under the category of 'business' or 'personal'.

"Matt?" I ask tentatively.

"I'll be ok, Neriah. Really," he replies, eyes still firmly on his feet. "You're right. Isabel can fight her way out of anything."

"Exactly."

Privately, I don't feel very secure in Matt's mental state. He's been working almost non-stop, determined to shoulder everything himself, since the final battle. We've been trying to uncertainly find our feet in our relationship this whole time as well, which is how we came to compartmentalise everything else in our alone time. The times when it's just me and him are the only times I think he is truly and completely happy. When we're around other people it feels as though the whole world is resting on Matt's tired shoulders. He still suffers from the same insecurities that he always did before taking over the Guard, and now he feels it reinforced to some degree. I think that he expected to step straight into Lorian's shoes with no problem, but Lorian was head of the Guard for thousands of years. Even he must have had problems and missteps in the beginning, but it was so long ago that people don't remember them anymore - a luxury that Matt doesn't have. If we fail to save Isabel, that would be the ultimate failure. It would destroy Matt. I'm scared that he's finally going to crack.

I try to shrug off my morbid thoughts and focus on opening a portal to Athens. Starting at the floor, I draw a wide arc in the air with my paintbrush, focusing intensely on our desired time and destination. I fill my thoughts with a golden courtyard. I imagine sunlight dancing through the leaves of a fig tree that stands in the centre, proud and strong. Noon on a peaceful spring day. _461 BC_.

It takes a few tries. Some of my portals fail completely, others snap shut as quick as they open. Finally, a doorway to another time appears in a ripple of light, shining softly out at us. Matt steps through first, then turns and holds his hand out to me. I take it and step forward, leaving my bedroom behind and stepping forward into the Guard's headquarters in Ancient Greece.

The heat hits me first, and I'm glad that temperatures no longer really phase me, because any mortal caught in Greece on the cusp of summer would not fare well in jeans. The sun shines high above us, reflecting off of the stark white painted walls and dazzling me. Baby pink flowers push their way up towards the sun to greet us and sway gently in the breeze. I love it here.

Matt doesn't take the same pleasure in our surroundings as I do, and immediately sends a telepathic, and curt, message out to the Tribunal members. _Main chamber. We need a briefing. Now._

I reach out and take his hand, pulling it to my lips. He gives me a very tired-looking smile in response and my heart breaks for him. We walk to the main chamber together in silence. We could use our wings, but I suspect Matt is trying to give the other Tribunal members time to arrive.

When we push open the chamber doors only Elenna is still absent, with the other Tribunal members already seated in their usual places. Matt gives my hand a quick squeeze before heading up the stone steps to his seat, the one that used to belong to Lorian. I ascend the seat to his right, formerly belonging to Lady Devine.

I barely knew Lady Devine, but I wish I did. When I first took over the seat, I had the morbid duty of sorting through Lady Devine's personal items that she left there. I found numerous strands of long, blood red hair tucked away between soft pillows which she had put on the stone seat for extra comfort, funny doodles on the corners of important scrolls in a tasteful emerald ink, and a surprising amount of snacks in small boxes. I used to be so in awe of the Tribunal members, but it's much better to know them as the interesting and complex people that they really are. By all accounts, Lady Devine was scandalously funny when she spoke, but also quite shy. I think we would have gotten along.

The House of Divinity will most likely not be mine to take over - I've never even set foot in Lady Devine's former territory, and regardless I have a lot of training to get through before I'm prepared for the responsibility of my own House. King Richard has been the greatest help, having only just taken charge of the House of Veridian himself. Most likely I will be taking up the mantle of head of the House of Kavanah, Meridian's old house, as I used to live right in the heart of his territories.

The Guard's houses are divided up largely by lands of ancient kingdoms, and the names given to them by the Atlanteans who arrived in this realm when humanity barely stood erect. The oldest that I know of are usually the ones named directly after their Tribunal members, save for Lady Arabella's and Elenna's simply named houses of 'Sky and Water' and 'Isle'. I'm not the first to take over an orphaned house though, so at least there are some Tribunal members who have helped me in that respect - Queen Brystianne herself helped me to go through Lady Devine's effects, having done it before when taking over the late King Averil's post.

As I take my seat on the cool marble throne, Elenna appears almost directly opposite me, smiling apologetically.

"Please forgive my lateness," she says, smoothing out her flyaway brown hair. "There was a small crisis I had to attend to with a demon attack in Dublin. We have had to dispatch Lucy Bushell there immediately."

"Has the demon been neutralised?" Matt asks.

Elenna nods. "Yes, my Lord. It should never have gotten so close to such a populated area. Miss Bushell has a lot of work to do to wipe the memories of so many mortals."

"Good. Urm, I mean, good that it's been neutralised, not good that Miss Bushell needs to work so hard."

I catch Matt's eye as he begins to look a little flustered, shooting him a reassuring smile.

"Of course, my lord," Elenna replies with a nod. Her expression is unreadable, her thoughts closely guarded.

"I wish to offer my own apologies for the lack of contact from myself and Lady Neriah," Matt adds. "I understand there has been an… incident."

"Yes, my lord." It's Penbarin who answers him, whilst exchanging a quick glance with Queen Brystianne who gives him a barely perceptible nod. "As I said to you earlier, your sister has had another troubling vision." I like how he says 'another', as if Isabel has ever had a happy and carefree premonition.

"Show me," Matt commands.

Lord Penbarin allows his eyes to flutter closed and his mind to open, showing Isabel's vision to us. I'm looking through the eyes of someone else, in what I think is a cave judging by the stone walls. It's difficult to tell though, because all around me are bright lights in shimmering metallic colours, expanding by the second and obscuring more of my vision. _Not expanding_, I think, _just getting closer_. I hear Arkarian's voice from somewhere in Isabel's memory, probably trying to rouse her from her vision, and Lord Penbarin's mind closes again.

"She said she felt that the lights were burning her skin," Queen Brystianne says. "Isabel believes that she is about to be burnt alive in this vision."

"How does she know it's even her?" I ask.

"She says that she just knows. That, and she's never had a vision from someone else's point of view before."

I nod glumly and glance back over at Matt, who is frowning down at his hands. For a long time he doesn't say anything, and the other Tribunal members slowly start to shift around uncomfortably in their seats. Everyone, that is, except for Lady Arabella, who is leant forward, hands and expression tight, staring straight ahead at Matt. Isabel is well loved by everyone here, but I don't think that's the reason for Lady Arabella's intense gaze. She loved and adored Lorian, and she's not yet fully decided on Matt. I suppose it's understandable - they've never really made up since Matt falsely accused her of being a traitor.

"What has been done so far?" Matt asks finally.

"Forgive me, my lord, but I deemed it necessary to give Isabel her belated initiation gift somewhat prematurely," King Richard says from my right.

"A shame for it not to be a happier surprise, but we hope you agree it was necessary," Lord Penbarin chimes in.

"I do. Thank you, King Richard."

So Isabel has her wings, that's good news. Maybe we can practice using them together. I'm still really rusty with mine - I can get close to where I need to be, but sometimes I'll end up a room over. That doesn't seem like a big problem until you end up in the bathroom when your mom is taking a shower.

"In the meantime," Lord Penbarin continues, "we have advised her to stick close to other Guard members: yourself and Lady Neriah, of course, Arkarian…"

"Which Isabel will be delighted with, no doubt," Queen Brystianne jokes, prompting laughter around the room.

"Well, yes, quite. But there's little else we could offer. Unless you have any further suggestions, my lord and lady?"

Matt and I look at each other from across our seats. His expression is grim.

"I don't have any further suggestions," I say, shrugging my shoulders weakly. I feel so useless.

"Isabel is of the greatest danger to herself when she feels suffocated," Matt says. "I'm hesitant to enforce any stricter rules upon her besides staying with other Guards. I will think on it but for now I think we have done all we can."

"There is one other thing, my lord," Lady Arabella says. "Two things, really."

"Yes, my lady?"

"I have seen the lights in Isabel's vision before, and I have been racking my brain trying to think where."  
"And have you had any success?"

"No, my lord. I do, however, have a member of my house who is very talented at rooting through other people's memories. I would be curious to see if he could be of any help."

"Then do it."

At Matt's words a few of the Tribunal members bristle. It takes me a moment to realise why, but then the penny drops. Having a regular Guard member gain unfettered access to a Tribunal member's memories, especially the longest-serving one, could be a potentially disastrous breach of security. I sneak a side-long glance at Lady Arabella, who hasn't even flinched, and I can't help but wonder if Matt has just walked into a very elegantly-laid trap.

Matt tenses. A Tribunal member must have just privately warned him of the implications of what he has just ordered. I wonder who it is that's looking out for him.

"I mean… only if you are sure that this would not be a risk to our security."

"Of course, _my lord_." The last part of what Lady Arabella says is stressed so subtly I almost miss it.

"And you said there was one other thing, Lady Arabella?" I ask, trying to fix a friendly smile to my face.

"Yes, my lady. I was wondering when we will be holding Dillon's trial."

Total silence falls across the chamber. No one moves, save to cautiously turn their gaze to Matt, who is tapping one finger on the marble podium in front of his seat.

"When I say," he answers simply. "You are all dismissed."

Nobody in the chamber so much as breathes. I feel my heart fluttering uncomfortably in my chest. I was wondering when this was going to happen. Matt refuses to tell anybody, including me, what is going on between himself and Dillon. The only clue he's ever given me is to warn me to stay away from him, and to never, ever, be alone with him. I would say that Matt is afraid of him, but what could a mortal do that would so badly scare an immortal?

"I'm afraid that we can no longer accept that answer," Lord Alexandon says - the first thing he's said since the beginning of the meeting. He leans back in his chair and tilts his head back until he's looking down his nose at Matt, grey eyes that are usually full of laughter and mirth now cold and unfriendly.

"I am giving you an order," Matt says calmly.

"We understand that," Lord Alexandon replies. "We've been given orders before, shockingly enough. But the thing is, when Lorian gave us orders he usually did us the courtesy of explaining why he was giving them."

"I am not Lorian."

"We know," Lady Arabella retorts coolly.

Faster than I knew he could move, Matt jumps to his feet and waves his arm in the air, filling the room with blinding light.

"You. Are. Dismissed," he says, voice reverberating through me with a power I didn't know he had and rattling my very bones. When the light fades, we're alone again - the Tribunal seats all empty.

"W-what did you do to them?" I ask shakily.

"Sent them back to their own quarters," Matt replies, scrambling back down to the floor. He rushes over and extends a hand out to me, helping me down as well. "Come on, we should go before things get nasty."

"What the hell just happened?"

"I think we just saw the first attempt at a coup."


	6. Six - Neriah

**Six - Neriah**

"What?" I ask, still dazed from Matt's impressive display of power. I've never seen anything quite like that before, but Isabel told me once that Lorian did something similar when forbidding anybody from trying to rescue Arkarian when he was trapped in the Underworld.

"Luckily, I still have some Tribunal members on my side, otherwise that could have gone very differently. We should hurry. Do you have your paintbrush?" Matt asks, glancing warily around the room as though he's afraid an angry Tribunal member is going to reappear before us and wage all-out war.

I nod, sliding the paintbrush out of my pocket and with trembling arms draw a portal back to our regular timeline. To my immense relief, the portal works the first time, and we hurry through, letting it snap shut behind us.

It feels surreal to be standing back in my bedroom again, cluttered with art supplies and childhood photos of me and my mom posing with Aysher and Silos. I turn slowly to face Matt, jaw clenched.

"Matt…" I begin.

"Don't," he cuts across. "Things will be ok."

"Will they? How long can you really keep control for?"

"As long as necessary."

"Necessary for what, though? Matt I get that you don't want to talk about Dillon, but we have to. Why can't you at least tell me what's going on?"

"It's not that I don't want to, Neriah, believe me. I honestly think that telling people what's going on will just put more people in danger."

"In danger from what? From Dillon?"

"Yes." Matt takes both of my hands in his and leans down to rest his forehead against mine, eyes firmly closed. "I can't stand this, but it's better than the alternative."

I've never seen Matt so rattled. Whatever is going on with Dillon has really messed with him. I decide to drop the subject for now, but I won't let it go permanently. Eventually Matt is going to have to open up to me a bit more, and I'll be waiting.

"Who warned you?" I ask, closing my eyes too for a moment. I focus on the sensation of Matt's skin against mine, the slow rate of his breaths. He's trying to keep calm, putting himself in a semi-meditative state.

"Hm?"

"You said you still had some Tribunal members on your side, and when Lady Arabella asked you about the guy going through her memories, it looked like someone warned you about what you said."

"That was Queen Brystianne," Matt says. "And Lord Penbarin tried to diffuse Lord Alexandon."

"That's good," I mumble. "At least we still have some friends."

"A few more flashy displays and I could probably keep my dissenters obedient by way of fear. But that's not how I want to do things."

"So what are we going to do?"

"Try and score a few wins, make me look more competent than I actually am," Matt replies, releasing my hands and enveloping me in a hug. "Jimmy and Arkarian want to go down into Veridian, salvage some more Atlantean technology."

"But Veridian is flooded. How're they going to do that?"

"That's why they want us there, to help clear the water."

I grimace. Some aspects of immortality I've taken to immediately, other bits are still difficult. Matt assures me that I'm doing far better than he did when he first started training, but he's just being kind. Of course I can shapeshift easily, that was one of my abilities when I was mortal. Truthseeing feels like second nature to me now, and I'm even getting used to having a perfect memory. However, basic elemental magic, one of the key building blocks of immortal magic, I can barely contain. Elemental magic tends to spike wildly whenever I try to use it - either fizzling out limply or verging on "dangerous explosion" level. I've considered perhaps asking Arkarian for help - elemental magic amongst mortals is exceedingly rare and powerful, and although he took a long time to harness his impressive natural ability, he managed it. Seeking instruction with Arkarian would feel like a betrayal of Ethan though, and when he comes back I'm eager to train with him again.

"We shouldn't go back to Athens until after Veridian," I say, kissing Matt's chest. "Give them all time to cool off."

"Yeah, you're right." Matt pulls away from me, suddenly frowning again.

"What's wrong?" I ask, dreading that something else terrible has happened.

"Is it just me, or is it darker in here than it should be?"

I glance around to see that Matt's right. It's far too dark to be nine o'clock in the morning, and the sun is at the wrong-

I curse loudly. "I didn't focus properly on a time for the portal to open up in! I was in such a rush it completely slipped my mind!"

"What time is it?"

I grab my alarm clock from the side of my bed and curse again. "It's 6pm. Mom is going to kill me."

"It was an accident, Neriah. Anyway, it's my fault for rushing us out of there. Your mom isn't going to kill you," Matt says in an effort to comfort me. I feel guilty for stressing about the time when Matt's problems are so much bigger than mine. He's so sweet to me.

"Oh yes she is going to kill you."

I wince and turn towards the door, where my mother is standing with her arms crossed and one eyebrow raised. She's already dressed up in her nice black pencil skirt and frilly white blouse for dinner with the Beckets this evening, her first time meeting Matt's mom. Christ, that's in an hour and it will take us at least twenty minutes to drive there. To top it all off it looks like my mistake might make us late as well.

"Mom, I am _so _sorry-"

"The blink of an eye, you said. I ended up giving Aysher and Silos your pancakes."

"Aneliese, this is my fault," Matt chimes in. "Please don't blame Neriah, she tried her hardest to get us back here in time and I distracted her."

Mom's expression softens a little at Matt's words. She likes Matt a lot, and trusts him completely. Her eyes flit between the two of us and Matt must look as apologetic as he sounds because finally she nods.

"Neriah, please get changed, I want to make a good impression. William is bringing the car around in ten minutes." William is our chauffeur, the one necessity we've had to keep a hold of - neither me or my mom can drive. Well, Mom swears that she can but I don't trust the woman who hasn't driven in at least seventeen years behind the wheel. Besides, her license has definitely expired by now.

I don't reply with what I really want to say - that being that Coral has already seen me at my worst first thing in the morning with drool along the side of my cheek. I know she means that she wants to look like she's holding us all together, especially as Matt has been staying here on and off. She wants to look like a normal mom who can comfortably wrangle two teenagers on the cusp of adulthood. When Mom had to go back into hiding and I stayed at the Beckets, it was under the guise that my mom had to fly all the way up to Darwin to care for her sick mother, and ever since then she's worried that she looks like an irresponsible mother who ditches her only daughter at a moment's notice. Tonight is very important to her.

"And brush your teeth!" Mom shouts down the corridor as she walks away. "I could smell your breath across the room!"

We get ready in a hurry, Matt keeping his thoughts closed to me the entire time. My mind, meanwhile, keeps wandering back to Dillon and the risky game Matt is playing by keeping the Tribunal members in the dark. I haven't really spoken to Dillon since the final battle, which has been a relief. When I first met Dillon, I was flattered with his attention - he was popular and good looking, but I couldn't ignore the deep connection I felt to Matt. Dillon began to feel suffocating with his infatuation with me and his jealousy. I don't think I could stand to still have him hanging around whilst I'm trying to find my footing in the Tribunal and my first ever real relationship. Something about Dillon's behaviour had begun to unsettle me slightly towards the end. Ethan always spoke highly of him, and despite their falling out over me, he was one of Matt's oldest friends, so the only person I ever shared my concerns with was one fleeting conversation with Isabel when I stayed with her. Isabel was understanding then, I wonder if she would be willing to talk with me now. She loves Matt, and secretly is just as protective of him as he is of her. Maybe Isabel will be able to help me coax information out of him.

The ride to Matt's house is tense. William chats away to us from the driver's seat, blissfully unaware of the tension in the atmosphere. Mom is still slightly annoyed with us, but she slowly begins to loosen up as we drive, eventually ending up in a light-hearted debate with William about the benefits of some kind of diet that he wants to try out. Matt stares out of the window, holding hands loosely with me as he watches the trees of the forest smooth out into the mid-sized family homes of Angel Falls' suburbs.

Jimmy opens the door to the Becket's house just as we pull up onto the driveway. William bids us a goodnight and tells Mom to text us when she wants to be picked up. He lives only a few streets away so he's going to relax at home with his cat, Bernice, whilst we eat. I give him a fond wave goodbye as he pulls back out of the driveway and heads down the street.

Jimmy gives Mom and me a big hug as we walk through the front door. He claps Matt on the shoulder as he animatedly compliments my mom about how lovely she looks, and Matt manages a small, polite smile as he shrugs out from under his grasp. Jimmy helped to build our house, and personally oversaw the installation of our security systems, so Mom knows him at least in passing. I'm pleased that there's another familiar face for her besides myself and Matt, and even more pleased to have company that she's not currently annoyed with.

"Coral is just finishing up dinner," Jimmy says, taking my mom's coat and hanging it up for her. "Can I get you a glass of wine?"

"Yes, please," Mom replies. "Something red, if you have it."

"And am I offering Neriah a glass?" Jimmy asks with a grin. His smile is a mix of kindness and genuineness. Even if my mom was the type to get offended by underage drinking, she couldn't possibly be offended by Jimmy's manners whilst he facilitates it.

"You may," my mom replies, shooting me a look that somehow manages to convey the sentiment of 'please don't get drunk and make me look like I let you run rampant and get wasted every Friday night' in under a second.

"White please, Jimmy," I say, shrugging off my own coat and hanging it on the peg by the door next to Isabel's beat-up denim jacket. I'm relieved mom is letting me have a drink, I feel like I need several.

"Coming right up. Matt would you show Aneliese to the living room? There's a nice cold beer in it for you."

Matt shepherds my mom into the Becket's living room, with me trailing behind. I've always liked Matt's family home. It's filled to the brim with photos of Matt and Isabel growing up, and cluttered lovingly with knick-knacks and personality. The mantelpiece above the fireplace alone is loaded with a ceramic deer from a trip to Japan when Matt was eight, a photo of the whole family not long after Jimmy moved in, smiling in the backyard, one awkward photo each of Matt and Isabel's yearly school photos taken sometime when they were both gawky pre-teens, a tatty-looking vase with a faux-ancient greek design that Isabel once told me was her crazy granny Alice's, a couple of 'healing crystals' belonging to Coral, and a few spare batteries that _should _be kept in the drawer next to the sink but no-one is sure if they still have any juice in them or not and they keep meaning to test them. The whole house has a happy, lived-in feel. There's no extra thick walls with steel that can descend over the windows and doors to keep out attackers, just a cheery doormat proclaiming 'welcome' to anyone who might walk by. Coral has a great affection for the slightly tacky and very wholesome, and has decorated her home accordingly.

Mom looks around approvingly, clearly as endeared as I am by the family-themed clutter. She takes a seat on the second-hand sofa and smiles warmly at Matt.

"What a lovely home."

"Thanks, we've been here since I was about five, and Mom has collected a lot of weird and wonderful things over the years for decoration."

"It's nice," Mom replies, looking around the room. "You can tell there's a lot of love in this house."

"We try," Jimmy replies from the doorway. He's carrying a shiny silver tray with three wine glasses and two beer bottles balancing on it, which he sets down on the coffee table. "Coral will be out in a sec, Isabel is going to watch the potatoes and then plate up."

"Is she ok? Isabel, I mean?" Mom asks quietly after taking a sip of wine.

Jimmy looks startled for a second, as if he had forgotten that my mom knew all about the Guard, then glances hastily over his shoulder towards the kitchen. I can hear Coral giving Isabel instructions on when to turn the potatoes faintly, and hear her thoughts clearly, filled with worry about the food burning under Isabel's care and making a bad impression. Both of our moms are clearly desperate for the other to like them.

"She's ok. Alarmingly so, actually. She's pretty much the same as when I last saw her yesterday," Jimmy whispers.

"Knowing Isabel she's probably not taking it very seriously," Matt grumbles. He's frowning at Isabel's shadow that has been thrown up against the kitchen cabinets as if it's done something offensive whilst we weren't looking.

"I wouldn't say that," Jimmy says. "Isabel has always worried more about everyone else than herself. I think she's more concerned with everyone's reaction to what she saw rather than what she actually… you know… saw."

"Hmm." Matt scowls into his beer bottle, shooting another glance up at the kitchen door.

"Poor thing," Mom replies, seemingly oblivious to Matt's bad mood. "And how are you, Jimmy?"

"I'm good, thanks. Went to work earlier, had lunch at Shaun's shop - that's the other old guy who's still alive," he adds at my mom's blank expression. "How are things at the house? Getting set back up ok?"

"Nearly there. I'm thinking of getting rid of a few things though, now it's just going to be me and Neriah on our own most of the time we have lots of extra furniture that we don't really need anymore."

"Ah, you should run them by Coral before you throw anything out, she loves second-hand things."

"My ears are burning!" Coral calls from the kitchen. She pops her head around the half-open door and waves at us all cheerily, brushing a stray strand of curly blonde hair out of her face and leaving a streak of flour across her cheek. "I'll be out in a second! Sorry for being so rude! Isabel, can you pass me the tongs?"

Moments later, Coral reappears, hair neatened and flour dusted away from her face. She's wearing a floaty orange tea dress that compliments her suntanned complexion and a bright smile, which she directs straight at my mom.

"Hi! You must be Aneliese, so nice to finally meet you!" she says, pulling Mom straight into a hug the minute she's halfway up onto her feet.

Coral looks pretty much identical to Isabel, except older and with more curves and curly hair. Just like her daughter, she's a tanned sun-bleached blonde with expressive brown eyes and a kind smile. She even tilts her head back the same way Isabel does when she laughs. Unlike Isabel though, Coral is easy-going and chatty where Isabel is serious and headstrong. Being around Coral is like being bathed in sunshine, warm and pleasant.

Matt once told me that his mom used to be very quiet and reserved until she started seeing Jimmy, a side-effect of years of abuse by Isabel's father. It's difficult to imagine Coral any other way than she is now, but I guess that's a testament to how hard she's worked to rebuild her life over the years. That's one of the many reasons I hope tonight goes well - I think having a friend like Coral, who really gets what it's like to have your whole life ruined by someone who was supposed to love you, would be amazing for Mom. She needs the support in a way I could never offer her - I don't even remember her being with Marduke.

"So nice to meet you too!" Mom exclaims as she sits back down, trying not to look flustered. She smooths her skirt out nervously and waves one hand in the air. "It's a lovely home you have here!"

"Oh, thank you! Would you believe this is it clean?" Coral picks up the spare glass of wine and throws her head back in laughter. "How is your mom doing now?"

"My mom?" Mom asks, dumbfounded. I shoot a pointed look at her before she realises what Coral is asking. "Oh! My mom! Well, unfortunately she passed away."

_Five years ago, _I think.

"Oh I'm so sorry to hear that," Coral replies sympathetically, hand resting on her heart. She ruffles Matt's hair affectionately as she sits down next to Jimmy on the opposite sofa, where she pulls her legs up beside her and curls up in place. Matt barely notices, and keeps shooting furtive glances to the kitchen door. I quietly reach out to place one hand on his arm.

_It will be okay,_ I think aloud. _We can't exactly talk about this now, anyway._

_Yeah, I know. But I just want to know that she's at least coping. Isabel isn't as strong as she makes herself out to be, and she's already propping up everyone else, _Matt silently replies. He pats my hand with his own, and takes another swig of his beer as he turns his attention back to everyone else.

Our moms instantly click, much to our relief, bonding almost straight away over their love of antiques and all things vintage (although their tastes are quite different). Jimmy chimes in every now and then with funny stories about some of the stranger construction projects he's worked on, whilst Matt and I sit close together silently listening in. Matt's hand doesn't move from mine the entire time.

I'd never really thought about boys much before I moved to Angel Falls. I hadn't really _met _any before, or at least, not ones that weren't at least ten years older than me. I was more worried about making friends than anything else, and a boyfriend was the last thing on my mind. How could I maintain a relationship when there was the constant risk of having to move away suddenly? Or the risk of my death? The Prophecy's final line of 'yet one shall be victorious while the other victorious in death' hung over me like a guillotine blade. It could so easily have been me instead of Rochelle, and not even Matt's gift of immortality could have saved me if Lathenia had decided to kill me herself whilst I was her prisoner. Sitting on the Becket's couch with my boyfriend, nervously holding hands whilst our parents meet for the first time wasn't something that I ever thought would be possible.

I sneak a glance over at Matt again. He's looking straight at Coral whilst she enthusiastically tells my mom all about an antiques market she goes to once a month in Marlo, but his eyes are glazed over. His thoughts are meticulously shielded as usual, but there's the smallest hint of a wrinkle forming between his brows. I rub my thumb up and down his arm softly and he gives me a small smile before flicking his gaze back over to our moms. I'm so worried about him.

Finally the kitchen door opens and Isabel pokes her head through.

"Mom? Jimmy? I think dinner looks ready!" she calls. She gives me and Matt a quick wave before disappearing back into the kitchen, expression completely neutral.

"I'll get it, darl," Jimmy says. He pats Coral on the knee and heads into the kitchen to help Isabel plate up.

"I think we should probably relocate to the dining room," Coral says, also standing up.

She eagerly ushers us into the dining room, where the table has already been laid. Coral has put out her best china that usually sits in a cabinet in the kitchen, only to be brought out at Christmas and very special occasions. In the centre of the table two wine bottles nestle in ice-filled buckets and pre-lit candles sit in slightly tarnished gold candelabras. Isabel appears again from the other kitchen door, the one that leads directly into the dining room, sporting tomato-red oven gloves and carrying a tray of golden roast potatoes.

"Hi Aneliese!" she says cheerily, setting the tray down on the table. She tries to give my mom a hug, but she's impeded by the oven gloves, so she bumps awkwardly into her instead.

"Hi Isabel, how are you?"

"Yeah, I'm good thanks!" Isabel purposefully looks straight at my mom as she speaks, not even glancing at Matt. _We can talk later, _she thinks, broadcasting her thoughts for barely a second. "How are you?"

"Oh, I'm ok now that the house is a little bit more unpacked again. You should come by sometime! We'd love to have you over again!" Mom replies with a wide smile.

Isabel's smile falters momentarily and she finally looks over at me. _Neriah…_ she thinks, alarm in her tone and expression.

"What?" Coral asks from behind us. Oh no. I forgot to tell mom that we were covering for Isabel last night.

"I was just saying Isabel should come back over for an afternoon or evening," Mom continues, blissfully unaware at the chaos her polite invitation is causing. "I know the dogs would be very happy to see her!"

Isabel's mind completely clams up again, Coral's thoughts are a whirlwind of quickly connecting dots, and Jimmy is internally cursing as he comes in halfway through the conversation holding two large bowels of roasted vegetables. We've been rumbled, and Isabel is about to be in serious trouble. Matt takes a swig of beer and wordlessly slides into his usual seat at the table, clearly aware that the situation is beyond trying to salvage.

To her credit, Coral barely flinches as she takes her own seat. "Yes! That would be lovely!" she says, but her thoughts are screaming: _Isabel has a secret boyfriend! Or girlfriend! Or she's a drug addict! God, please let it be a secret someone and not a raging drug problem. No, Matt wouldn't help to hide a drug problem. _

I hastily shut off my truthseeing powers before I can become too wrapped up in anyone else's thoughts and try to focus on dinner. The food looks delicious, a joint effort between Jimmy, Coral and Isabel that's come together beautifully. Our meal consists of crispy roast potatoes with fluffy insides, carrots roasted in honey, peas and broccoli all smothered in a rich gravy.

"Neriah, I've made a special veggie gravy for you," Coral says as Jimmy sets a smaller gravy boat in front of me. "And Jimmy tracked down this veggie roast for you as well that Isabel says is good."

"Thank you so much!"

We all tuck in with gusto. I don't really get hungry anymore, and I won't starve if I don't eat, but food is still tasty and eating is still an enjoyable thing to do. _This _food however, is especially delicious. I forgot how much I missed Jimmy's cooking. He's an even better cook than Melissa, our ex-chef-slash-poison-expert who subjected a portion of every meal to rigorous tests in case Marduke had managed to sneak some arsenic into our salt. Melissa cooked with military precision, measuring everything out precisely and chopping in strict uniform, but Jimmy cooks with his heart, tasting everything as he goes without fear of lethal poison. He's been trying to pass on his cooking skills to the Becket's with mixed success, but Coral has been his best student. She makes the best roast potatoes I've ever had.

Conversation continues to flow over dinner, with more participation this time from Matt and myself this time. Isabel keeps her head down for the most part, chipping in here and there whilst she tries to avoid the looks Coral occasionally shoots her way when my mom isn't looking. Jimmy tells us a story about when he was younger and tried to make his first girlfriend a meal to impress her, only to end up mixing up the salt and the sugar.

"This poor girl, bless her, she actually continued to eat it because she didn't want to be rude. So I was sat there thinking it was just my nerves that was making the food taste weird. That was all going fine until I brought out dessert. The minute she saw this cake she jumped up from the table and just shouted 'There's no way in hell you're making me eat that!'"

My mom begins to laugh so hard that tears begin to make their way down her cheek. Even Matt cracks a smile and lets out a huff of amusement. He rests his free hand on my leg under the table and gives my thigh a small squeeze. Isabel's drama aside, this is going really well.

_I know there's a lot going on right now, _I think out loud so Matt can hear me, _but I'm having a really nice evening._

_Me too,_ Matt replies as he gives my thigh another squeeze.

_Not so friendly reminder that I am sat right next to the two of you and can see where your hand is, Matt. Can you please not grope Neriah when I'm trying to eat?_ Isabel's thoughts ring out, projecting them loud and clear. Isabel has gotten really good at projecting messages to truthseers even when we're purposefully trying not to listen, but she comes through really loudly. The force of her thoughts almost make me jump out of my seat.

Matt reluctantly removes his hand whilst I try to keep a straight face. Beside him, Isabel also struggles to not giggle. There's nothing she loves more than embarrassing her big brother.

I really love Isabel, as much as if she was my own sister by blood. It's a weird feeling knowing that whilst I've only been with Matt a couple of months, if that, depending on when we class our relationship as officially 'starting', we are going to be together forever. We're soulmates, literally made for each other. Isabel is one of my best friends but the longer I'm with Matt the more she will be my sister for all intents and purposes. The firm friendship that we built early on will hopefully endure for the rest of our lives, and it's comforting to know that Isabel will always be there.

I wish my life could just be this, just eating good food with family, friends, and the man I love. No Tribunal rebellions to deal with, no life-changing decisions to be made at the drop of a hat, no scary prophecies - just roast potatoes and laughter. But all too soon, the plates are cleared and the wine bottles are drained, mostly by Coral and my mom, and it's time to leave.

"Neriah, did you want to stay over tonight?" Jimmy asks as he whisks away our plates.

My eyes search out my mom's and she gives me a nod. "If you want."

"Then yes please, if that's ok."

"Of course!" Coral says. "We've already pulled out the sofa bed in Isabel's room and made it up for you just in case you decided to stay over."

Mom's eyes widen a fraction. _Am I a bad mother for letting you and Matt share a bed?_

I try and give her the smallest shake of my head and a sympathetic smile. I'm glad Mom is as giddy over me having a boyfriend as I am, but Coral isn't putting me in Isabel's room to be strict or protective of her son. On the rare occasions that Rochelle would stay over, I know for a fact that she would stay in Matt's room. I'm almost certain that putting me in Isabel's room, even though she knows about mine and Matt's relationship, is out of concern that my mom would judge her for letting us share a bed. Mom panicking about the exact same thing is actually kinda funny.

We wave my mom a cheery goodbye at the front door. Coral gives her her number along with a promise to text her when she next goes antique hunting. As soon as Mom is safely in the car, Coral shuts the door and rounds on Isabel, who is already trying to make her way stealthily up the stairs.

"You," she says, pointing right at Isabel, who flinches. "I think we need a little talk in the living room."

Isabel sighs and trots reluctantly back down the stairs. Matt takes me by the hand and moves to take her place on the stairs, but he's stopped by Coral's hand on his shoulders. She shoots him the most dangerous smile I've ever seen and raises her eyebrows.

"I think you should join us, don't you?"

"Um…" Matt glances back at me hesitantly, as if I can do anything to save him. I think he would prefer to be confronting the Tribunal.

"Neriah, I can't exactly tell you off but if I'm going to get the whole story of what's been going on you might as well sit in on this too." Coral's expression is gentler towards me, but that doesn't stop me from being nervous. I don't think I've ever really been in trouble before.

We troop silently back into the living room. Matt's thoughts are going a mile a minute, trying to come up with a million different stories to cover for Isabel's string of nights away from home. In contrast, Isabel seems relatively calm as we sit down next to her. Her thoughts are well-hidden as usual. Isabel's thoughts are often harder to crack now than even some of the most seasoned Tribunal members. She credits dating Arkarian for this feat, but I've always wondered if her psychic abilities being so strong reinforce her mental shield.

_Isabel isn't responding to me, _Matt thinks. _What do we say?_

_She's probably just trying to get her story straight in her own head first. Let her take the lead. _

Matt doesn't respond, but his jaw tightens.

Coral sits down opposite us, hands folded neatly in her lap. Jimmy lingers uncomfortably in the doorway, unsure whether to join us or seek refuge with the washing up in the kitchen.

"So," Coral says. "I know that everything that has been going on in this town has been shaking people up. It's scary. I understand that."

"Mom, I-" Isabel begins.

"No. Let me talk," Coral continues. "People have died in this town. A lot of people, and no one can quite figure out why. It's been one thing after another: the school gets hit by a meteor shower, an actual, literal, rat plague, strange storms, and it's all been focused in this one tiny town."

I clench my hands in my lap. Coral probing into anything to do with the Guard wouldn't just be bad news for us, it could be catastrophic for her. Matt's father put a sort-of shield over Coral's mind when he left her, so that she wouldn't remember his true identity. As far as she recalls Matt is the product of a regrettable affair with an English tourist - something that she has never told Matt himself. If Coral remembers too much about Dartemis, her mind could break under the strain of its own protections resisting the knowledge. Better for now to keep her away from anything to do with the Guard.

"Do I need to remind you of when you got lost in the forest - _for two weeks_ \- last year? They are pulling bodies out of that same forest every couple of days because of everything that's been going on. Matt's ex-girlfriend is _missing_. The last thing I need right now is my own children lying to me about their whereabouts."

Matt hangs his head in shame at Coral's words. Rochelle's death is still a sore point for him. He regrets how badly they left things before she died.

"I don't care where you've been staying these past few nights, Isabel," Coral continues. She frowns and then shakes her head. "Actually, scratch that. I absolutely do care where you've been. Especially if it's a drug den."

"I'm not a druggie," Isabel replies with a small, nervous laugh.

"I didn't think that you were. Matt wouldn't cover for a heroin addiction."

Matt chuckles quietly next to me.

"I assume that you're seeing someone? Boyfriend? Girlfriend?"

"Mom!"

"I won't be mad if it's a girlfriend!"

"I'm not gay! Why does everyone always think I'm gay?" Isabel sighs.

"The sports," Matt and Jimmy reply simultaneously.

Now it's my turn to laugh, smothering my sniggers against the palm of my hand. A smile tugs at the corner of Coral's mouth and even Isabel rolls her eyes with a smirk on her face.

"Boyfriend, then?" Coral asks when she's regained her composure.

Isabel sighs and puts her hands up in the air. "You got me."

Coral puts one hand over her heart and sags back in her seat. "Thank you for not being addicted to cocaine, or heroin, or whatever."

"No problem. Ecstasy is more my speed anyway."

Jimmy guffaws from the doorway. "Ha! Speed! Drug puns! Fun for the whole family."

"Isabel, I need you to be honest with me in future. I don't mind you having a boyfriend, or you staying with him some nights, but when I still need to know where you are. If I find that you're not where I thought you were one day, and at the same time I hear that they've pulled another body out of the park, what do you think that would do to me?"

Isabel nods. "Ok, Mom."

"And I want to meet this boy."

"What?" Isabel exclaims, looking alarmed.

_Shit, _Matt thinks beside me. I wordlessly agree, trying to keep my expression neutral.

"Well I don't think that's too big of an ask. It's your seventeenth next week, why don't you bring him to that?"

Shoot. I forgot it was Isabel's birthday next week. I haven't even got her a present.

"He's not really a party person…"

"Well I'm sure he can make an exception for his girlfriend's birthday."

"Not really."

"What's his name, anyway? Do I know him?"

"Umm… his name is…"

"This shouldn't be a difficult question, Isabel. Why don't you want me to know anything about him?"

"It's not that!" Isabel replies, a panicked expression on her face. "It's just… um… it's…"

"Dillon," Matt suddenly says. I look at him in horror.

_DILLON? _Isabel shouts in her head. _Ethan was RIGHT THERE, Matt, and you go with DILLON?_

"Dillon?" Jimmy repeats, stupefied. _Is that really the direction we're choosing to go in?_

"Dillon, as in Matt's friend, Dillon?" Coral asks, jaw sliding around nervously. "Well… he's a nice enough boy I suppose."

"Um…"

"I mean, I know he doesn't have the happiest of home lives…"

"Mom I don't think that's really our place to discuss," Isabel interjects.

"Right. No. He's always been very polite when he comes over and if he makes you happy-"

"Happier than I've ever seen her," Matt adds. _Might as well lean into this,_ he thinks when he catches my eye.

"Well then that's good," Coral continues. "It's just... honey, his parents drink a lot and I don't know if that's the healthiest environment for you, or him, for that matter, to be in."

_Mom banned me from going round Dillon's house when I was younger, _Matt thinks. _She came to pick me up once when I was seven and Dillon's mom was passed out whilst we were running around outside without supervision. Dillon's dad was out at the pub._

"I know, Mom. Dillon is eighteen and he doesn't drink because of his parents. He's a… a good guy," Isabel replies. "I'll ask him. About my birthday, I mean."

"That would be nice," Coral says. She forces a tight smile to her face but her thoughts are a swirl of past encounters with Dillon's drunken parents and horrible memories of Isabel's father. She's worried that Isabel will end up in a similar situation.

_Dillon was probably the worst choice you could have made, Matt._

_It was the first name that popped into my head. Why the hell didn't I say Ethan?_

We eventually head off to bed after Coral gives Matt a short scolding about keeping secrets, and I get a much gentler word of advice to not let Matt and Isabel get me mixed up in their schemes.

"These two always manage to give me the run-around," Coral says to me fondly as she bids us goodnight. "Maybe you can keep them on the straight and narrow."

I laugh weakly at the idea of trying to boss Isabel around. Matt I could just ask nicely and he would do anything I wanted. Jimmy raises his eyebrows expressively over Coral's shoulder, apparently thinking the same thing as me. Isabel is a force of nature.

When the three of us get upstairs, Isabel's demeanour changes from gentle acceptance of her telling off to pure, unadulterated rage at Matt. She pulls him by the wrist into her bedroom and shuts the door behind the three of us.

"_Dillon_?" she hisses, running her hands nervously through her hair. "Matt, what the hell were you thinking?"

"I panicked! He was the first person who came to mind!"

"You are the leader of the Guard! The supreme Lord-Immortal! And you _panicked_?"

"It's been a long day, ok? I wasn't thinking straight."

"Yeah, I've heard all about your long day," Isabel says, slumping down on her bed. She doesn't look any less angry but her voice is more restrained.

"You did?" I ask.

"Word travels fast. Queen Brystianne told Arkarian everything, and he told me."

"How did he even tell you? You should have been home first thing this morning," Matt says, leaning against Isabel's desk. I take the swivel chair next to him.

"Now really isn't the time to chastise me, Matt. For the record though, I was home. Arkarian sent me a message."

"You received a message from the mountains all the way down here?" I ask, impressed. "That's amazing!"

"Thanks," Isabel replies, giving me a small smile. "It only really works with messages from Arkarian though, we've built a really strong mental link." She stresses the word 'mental' slightly, gaze briefly flicking to Matt.

"Everything is going to be ok," Matt says.

"Will it? It doesn't look that way right now, Matt. You pissed a LOT of people off with your little banishment stunt," Isabel retorts.

"I'll sort it."

"What, like you're sorting the Dillon situation?"

I shuffle uncomfortably in my seat. Both Isabel and Matt's thoughts have gone into total lockdown, but tension crackles in the air. I hate conflict, especially between my friends.

"That's none of your business," Matt says darkly.

"Well apparently it is. He is my boyfriend after all."

"Fuck off, Isabel."

"Oh fuck you, Matt. This is your fault!" Isabel snaps. "I'm not the fucking idiot who said I was dating Dillon!"

"I told you I panicked!" Matt half-yells back.

_Um, guys? _Jimmy's thoughts float up from below us._ You might want to keep it down a little._

"Arguing isn't going to get us anywhere," I say quietly.

"Thank you," Matt says, resting his hand on my shoulder.

I wriggle out from his grip uncomfortably. "No, Matt. I'm on Isabel's side with this one." I can't bring myself to look him in the eyes as I speak. "I trust you. I do. But I'm scared. I don't like not knowing what's going on."

Matt goes still for a second, hand still hovering in mid-air. I'm not looking at his face, choosing instead to stare at Isabel's. Her chin is stuck defiantly in the air and a deep frown is etched between her brows.

"Right," Matt says quietly. "Okay then."

Without another word he walks out of the room, closing the door again behind him. I hear him open the door to his room next door, and lay down on the bed. Tears prickle my eyes, and before I know it I'm bawling. Matt and I have never argued before. I don't even know if that really even counts as an argument.

Isabel is at my side in seconds, her arms locking around my shaking shoulders and whispering soothing nonsense in my ears.

"It'll be okay. There, there."

We remain like this for a few minutes, me sitting and crying my eyes out and Isabel awkwardly bent double over me. Eventually, Isabel releases me and straightens her back with an uncomfortable sounding click. She passes me a few tissues from a box on her desk, which I take gratefully.

"I really thought you would know what the hell is going on," she says sadly.

"I'm as in the dark as you are."

"He's really not said anything?"

I shake my head. "Now he'll probably never want to speak to me again."

"Don't be silly, Neriah. Matt loves you, you know that."

"We've never argued before."

"Yeah, well, the first argument is always the worst. It doesn't change the fact that you're soulmates though. You're meant for each other." Isabel puts one arm back around me and gives me a quick squeeze. "Besides," she continues, "there wasn't much actual arguing in your argument. More of a disagreement really. And let's be real here, Matt is totally in the wrong. He's also the one who stormed off like a stroppy teenager."

"He says he wants to keep everyone safe," I say quietly.

Isabel tilts her head to the side. "From what?"

"He says from Dillon."

Isabel lets out a deep sigh and flops backwards, arms outstretched above her head. She sticks her thumb out and jabs it at the wall that joins on to Matt's bedroom. She looks exhausted suddenly, like she's aged several years beyond what her body will ever actually achieve.

"Can you give us some privacy?" she asks.

I fumble a few times, but eventually beams of warm energy flow out from my hands, creating a barricade around the inside of the room's walls. The shield should keep out even the prying eyes of other immortals, namely Matt. I've conjured the barrier a few times before whilst Matt has been helping me to harness my new-found immortal magic. Using it against him now feels wrong, but Isabel is my best friend, and I know she wouldn't ask me to use my powers against her brother unless she thought it was necessary.

For the longest time Isabel doesn't say anything. She just stares sadly at the ceiling.

"Isabel?" I ask tentatively. "What is it?"

"I spoke to him," Isabel replies, voice barely more than a scratchy whisper.

"What?"

"I spoke to Dillon. Last night."

I'm glad that I'm sitting down because my legs suddenly feel like jelly. "What do you mean you spoke to him?"

"Arkarian and I went to Athens last night for a few weeks. The first night we were there…" she trails off. Her finger is wrapped up in a lock of her blonde hair, and she tugs at it nervously. "I saw Dillon. He was… weird."

"Weird how?"

"Like he wasn't even himself. He was acting like a completely different person."

"Did he hurt you?"

She shakes her head. "No. He insulted me a little. Matt too. Then he started talking about being my ally and…" She abruptly stops mid-sentence, sitting bolt upright on the bed and looking slightly dazed. "I think Dillon might not be the bad guy he's trying to make himself out to be. He was too much of a caricature, you know? I think there's more going on than even Matt knows."

"I think that's part of the problem, Isabel. I don't think Matt actually knows that much, and that's what's frightening him."

Isabel shakes her head, but I don't think it's at what I'm saying - it looks more like she's trying to rid herself of all the thoughts that are troubling her right now, hoping to shake them right out of her brain.

"Neriah?"

"Yeah?"

"Can you not say anything to Matt? About me speaking to Dillon? I haven't even told Arkarian."

I hesitate. "I don't know, Isabel. I don't want to keep secrets from Matt."

"Even though he's keeping secrets from you?"

"I have to be the bigger person in this situation," I reply quietly.

"Neriah, I've already managed more than Matt has. Dillon actually _spoke to me._ If Matt keeps going at Dillon head on then Dillon could clam up again. He already knows that he's being spied on all the time. Please, let me try and work on him in private. If Dillon thinks that he has the upper hand maybe he will get reckless, give me a better idea of what he's up to."

I look closely at Isabel. Her face is defiant again. She really believes that she can do this - that she can get to the bottom of Dillon's strange behaviour and root out any potential threat he may pose.

"Okay," I reply. "But if this all goes wrong…"

"Hey, what's the worst that can happen?"

I huff at her disapprovingly. "Did you really have to go and say that?"


End file.
